In Her Honor
by laxgoal31
Summary: Sequel to The Seventy Fifth Hunger Games. DISCONTINUED.
1. Stirrings Of Dissent

**This story is a sequel to my story The Seventy Fifth Hunger Games. If you've read that one, don't bother to read the synopsis (unless you want to of course). If you haven't read that one, I suggest you do read the synopsis. Anyways, please read and review this story!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Synopsis of the Seventy Fifth Hunger Games:

After Katniss and Peeta won in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, the Capitol invoked a new rule change on the Reaping, raising the age limit to **nineteen**. As another part of the Capitol's revenge, the next Reaping was fixed, and Primrose was chosen. Gale volunteered in order to try and bring her back safely to District 12.

Before the Games, Prim and Gale came across two siblings of contestants from the previous year: Castor, brother of Cato, and Tayla, sister of Thresh. And all too soon, the Games began.

Castor was the mortal enemy of Prim and Gale throughout the Games. Tayla saved Prim's life on the second day of the Games, but later betrayed her and Gale. When Prim came across Tayla again, Tayla helped her but then betrayed her yet again. Despite this, Prim still felt warmly towards Tayla. Soon after that event, a rule change was announced.

A mentor from each District would join their tributes in the arena. Two winners from a District would now be allowed. So Katniss joined Prim and Gale, much to the tears of all three. They all couldn't win.

Katniss said that a new rebellion against the Capitol was stirring in Panem because of her and Peeta's defiance the previous year. She also told Prim and Gale that Peeta was actually working for the Capitol's side, but that he was only doing to keep from being killed. The Capitol had eliminated the rebellion's inspiration in a pair of masterstrokes.

Tayla joined the three shortly after Katniss had met up with Prim and Gale. Gale was skeptical of her loyalties, but Katniss overruled him because she was the sister of Thresh.

In a battle with other contestants, Tayla sacrificed her life in order to save the life of Katniss. Shortly after she died, an announcement of a mandatory feast was heard. It was mandatory because the surrounding air outside of the feast zone was to be sowed with a poisonous toxin at the start of the feast.

At the feast, there were six contestants left, including the three from District 12. The other three, including Castor, were all on the same side as well. So in a mass battle, the latter three ultimately lost.

But just when Katniss, Prim, and Gale had to decide which one among them would die, Castor, who was thought to be dead, threw a knife into the neck of Katniss.

Prim killed Castor in white-hot tempered revenge, her first kill, but she couldn't do anything to save her sister. As she died, Katniss told Prim to spearhead the new rebellion that is stirring in Panem.

The rebellion must succeed this time. The Capitol cannot be allowed to go on with its tyranny. And so it's up to Primrose, Gale, and the crew to make sure that the Capitol is overthrown, once and for all.

But there are some questions that need to be answered: Whose side is Peeta really on? And is Katniss actually gone?

In Her Honor

_The face of Tayla, floating in a hazy white light, stared at Prim and said accusingly, "You let me die, Prim. After my family had already lost a son, you let them lose a daughter? How could you let me die?_

_Tayla's face blurred as it transformed into the features of Castor. "You killed me, Prim. I was helpless, unable to defend myself. I had two parents and a sister waiting for me to return home, and you took that hope away from them. How can you live with yourself?_

_Prim's voice broke through the confusion. "You deserved it! You killed my own sister! You took Katniss away from me…"_

_That name started to echo repeatedly in the milky haze, "Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss…"_

Primrose woke up, panting. As she lay in her queen-size bed, she sneaked a quick peek out of her ornamented glass window. The starry sky was still filled with the inky blackness of night. Prim sighed. She still had some hours to go before she could give up on the pretense of a peaceful sleep.

Because in the week since the conclusion of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, she had not gotten one wink of a dreamless and tranquil sleep. Every single night had become a night of torment, a restless night. And it was all because of the recent Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games that she had competed in.

Because gone was the Primrose of the past. Gone was the Primrose who cried when her sister did before she even knew the reason why. Gone was the Prim who cared so tenderly for all animals in pain and who tried to save them or at least ease their suffering.

The new Primrose was just a simple shell of the old Prim. This new Primrose had let herself be taken over by a terrible white-hot fury, and had killed a human being. She had taken a life. And while that life had committed unspeakable acts, it was still a life. A living, breathing, person. At least it was until Prim had killed it.

And the new Prim had also lost a sister. Words couldn't describe how she felt when her sister died in her very arms. Because Katniss was supposed to be untouchable. Prim had thought of Katniss as having a sort of invulnerability, with all she had been through already in her life. Katniss dying was the end of the world as Prim knew it. The old world was bearable enough. The new world…was hideous.

In fact, Prim would have given up on life already if it had not been for the obligation that Katniss had given her when she died. Katniss had entreated her to carry on the fight, to lead the new rebellion in Panem to overthrow the Capitol. And because it was the last thing Katniss had ever asked her to do, Prim would carry out her wishes to the best of her ability. Prim would see to it that the Capitol would be overthrown.

As Prim slowly sat up, she became aware of the muffled sound of voices outside. These voices did not have the homely quality of those in District 12. These voices spoke in rough overtones, with an accent that Prim recognized from her agonizing days spent away from District 12.

_The Capitol._

Not trusting the sound of these unfamiliar voices, Prim got up and dressed quickly in a simple green blouse, tawny pants, and a black hooded jacket taken from her spacious closet. And as she did every time she dressed in new clothes, she transferred the old mockingjay pin of her sister's to the front of her top.

Because when she wore the pin, she felt as though she carried around a bit of Katniss. As if her sister was there beside her. As if she was not gone forever from this world…

And then Prim heard the sound of breaking wood in her house. Her brand-new, fancy house in the Victor's Village of District 12. A benefit of winning the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games; but an un-wanted benefit that had come at a terrible price…

_That must have been the front door that just splintered. What do these people from the Capitol want? It can't be anything good, that's for sure._

And then as Prim stood there in the middle of her luxurious bedroom, panicking about the sudden turn of events, she heard a new voice, a familiar one this time. "Prim, over here. Quick!"

Prim rushed over to the open window. And standing down at the foot of her home were Gale and Haymitch Abernathy.

Gale said again, "Prim! You have to get out of there! Quick, catch!" He threw a coil of rope into Prim's window.

Prim caught the rope, and let one end run back down to the ground. Gale and Haymitch both grabbed their end. Prim hesitated for a second. _This isn't exactly safe…but who knows what those Capitol people will do to me?_ And so Prim began to slide down the rope to safety.

As it turned out; she had no real need to worry. Gale and Haymitch held fast onto their end, and also helped to lessen Prim's velocity as she slid down. Of course, Prim did feel a little pain. _But after all that's happened to me, what is a little physical hurt?_

Haymitch helped Prim stand on her own two feet. "Come on, sweetheart! We must be gone from here! This way, quickly!"

And so discarding the rope, the three of them quickly sprinted away from the house that was under attack seemingly by soldiers from the Capitol. But their escape did not go unnoticed. Shouts of discovery accompanied their frantic flight.

"They spotted us!" exclaimed Prim.

Gale smiled. "They won't be able to see us for long…"

Madge Undersee, District 12's mayor's daughter, picked the perfect time to pull up ahead of the three that were taking flight. She was in the driver's seat of a four-seater chrome-colored hoverbike. A pair of headlights were illuminated on the front of the bike in order to see through the deep blackness of the night. "Get in!" Madge cried.

And so the three fugitives piled into the small bike. Once they were all in the bike, Madge zoomed off away from the Victor's Village, leaving the troops from the Capitol in the dust.

As the bike approached the chain fence that encircled District 12, Madge yelled, "Hang on!" She then flipped a switch on the dashboard of the hoverbike. The bike started to rise in the air, but the fence was coming ever so closer. The three passengers inhaled sharply. Would they clear the fence in time?

The bike shot over the fence with inches to spare. Madge reversed the switch she had flipped earlier, and the bike settled down to resume a normal height as it flew over the leafy terrain of the surrounding woods.

As you can imagine, Prim was bursting with questions by this time. "Madge, where did you get this hoverbike from? Who were those people? And why did they break into my house?"

Madge eased up on the throttle slightly, noting that they had no pursuers. "This is my father's personal bike. Once he got wind of the Capitol's planned strike, he sent us three to rescue you from your home."

"Strike? And how exactly did he get wind of it?" asked Prim.

"All in due time," answered Madge.

Prim was growing exasperated. Nearly being kidnapped in the middle of the night and not getting straight answers will do that to you. "Can you at least tell me _why_ those Capitol men were after me?"

"Yes. But it's quite a long story…" replied Madge.

~/~/~/~/~/

**The previous day:**

Peeta Mellark swung himself off his soft, feathery bed and sighed. Another day. Another day of anguish, suffering, and burning in his mental and emotional hell.

_Katniss. _

Not a day passed when that name did not surface in Peeta's mind. Ever since that fateful day of her death, a week ago, Peeta had been locked in a never-ending nightmare. When he saw Katniss breathe her last, and move on from this world, his own personal world had ended. Watching her die on an advanced resolution television had only served to heighten the pain that he had felt inside. He had felt as if he was right there next to her. And he wasn't able do anything to save her…

Peeta stopped in front of his finely chiseled wooden desk table, and picked up the simple knife on top of it. As a highly-placed general in the Capitol's armed forces, Peeta was the not-so proud owner of an advanced pistol model, the Alti 26. But the thing was, Peeta didn't really care for his fancy gun. He was more inclined to keep with tradition. That tradition being the weapon which had helped him win the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. _With her._

Peeta crossed his room, with knife in hand, and came to a halt in front of his full-length mirror set in the beige-colored wall. Looking at himself, he saw a wreck of a human being. He took in the unkempt hair, the dirt all over his body, and the wrinkled clothes that he hadn't changed since two days ago. Because, with Katniss gone, he ceased to function properly. A part of him ceased to exist.

Peeta held the knife to his own throat and began the same mental struggle that he had struggled with at least twenty times a day over the past week:

_I want to do it. I want to end it. I want the pain to be over._

_But she wouldn't want you to. _

_But how can I live with this hole in my heart? How can I go on?_

_You have to go on. You still have a role to play in Panem. In the entire world._

_I don't care. I only care about her. And now she's gone. Forever. _

But Peeta was saved from making a decision about his life right there and then, because a knock rapped at the door. "General Mellark?"

Peeta sighed and slipped the knife into his belt. "Yes?"

"You're wanted by the top man in one hour, in his office. Don't be late." The sound of the messenger's footfalls echoed on the solid tiled floor in the outside hall as he walked away.

Peeta sighed sadly for a third time. Then, with tears threatening to well up in his melancholy blue eyes, he headed off to his washroom to make himself presentable for another day in hell.

~/~/~/~/~/

**Earlier that day:**

Sawyer Thistlewine was one of those people who it was quite easy to overlook in a crowd. Medium height, medium build, brown hair, brown eyes, no deformities or imperfections at all. In fact, Sawyer had lived all eighteen years of his life as a nobody. Not getting second glances as he walked by on a crowded street, no strangers really paying the slightest bit of attention to him. But today, that was going to change. Because today, Sawyer had a very special mission.

As Sawyer strolled along the cobble-stoned, bustling streets of the Capitol, nobody paid him the slightest mind. Just like he was used to. But this time, the reason was because of his altered appearance. His normal, nondescript image would never work here; he would stick out like a sore thumb next to all of the other mutilated and eccentric-looking people in the Capitol. So as to prepare for this mission, Sawyer had brought also a pink-haired wig and had dyed his skin color to blue. Walking next to the average Capitol citizen, he looked no more or less ghastly.

This scrupulous preparation was because Sawyer couldn't run the risk of someone reporting him to the authorities on this particular day. Because today, Sawyer had the task of assassinating a man. A very important man. And why was he doing it?

"In her honor," he whispered to himself. "For Katniss."

Because of Sawyer's accursed plain appearance, Katniss had never noticed him in the least. And when she ever did glance his way, her eyes had never lingered upon his face. To Katniss, Sawyer was just a speck of dust on the street.

But that didn't stop him from loving her from a distance, because he sure as hell didn't have the guts to go up and talk to her. Always whenever they were in the same area, Sawyer would try to sneak a glimpse of her. Her and her sleek black hair, her finely-toned body, her alluring gray eyes. But he couldn't do that anymore. Because the love of Sawyer's life was now out of this life.

And so as to try and mend the gaping wound in his heart, Sawyer had volunteered for this mission. The mission that would jumpstart the rebellion against the Capitol. The mission that would ultimately change the course of Panem.

But although the mission was to eliminate a highly-placed figure in the Capitol, it also served a secondary purpose: to strike fear into the citizens of the Capitol. This secondary purpose made it necessary for Sawyer to commit the act in front of a certain number of witnesses. And so he would.

Sawyer's shuffling feet finally stopped in front of his destination. The Games Headquarters.

Sawyer had entered the Capitol as a stowaway on the very same train that had brought the sister of Katniss home from her ordeal in the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games. While the train was refueling in the District 12 station, Sawyer had stayed out of sight of the surrounding passerby, snuck on, picked the lock on one of the empty suites, and settled in quite comfortably. It was as easy as that. The Capitol's extreme arrogance was evident in their lack of security.

Over meticulous surveillance the past week in the Capitol, Sawyer had garnered the information that his target left the building at precisely noon, ate lunch at a swanky restaurant that varied daily, and then returned to the Games Headquarters at one o'clock sharp. According to the old-fashioned ornamented town clock that towered over the surrounding golden buildings in the area, the time was now 11:59.

When the little hand reached the number 12, the doors to the Games Headquarters swung open. _Right on time._

Out walked a tall, thin man with green hair and blue lipstick on. This matched the description of the target given to Sawyer. This man proceeded to stroll casually out of the boundaries of the Games Headquarters, never stopping to give Sawyer the smallest bit of attention.

Sawyer laughed inwardly. _Pompous fool._

As the man continued on his path through the crowded Capitol streets, Sawyer settled into an easy pace about ten yards behind him. Just enough distance to keep him in sight, but not enough to make him nervous about a possible tail.

While he carefully followed the man, Sawyer kept his eyes peeled for any sign of a guard detail assigned to his target. As far as he could tell, there was none. Once again, another example of the Capitol's arrogance. This time, the arrogance would prove to be the man's downfall.

After making the decision that it was safe to take action, Sawyer increased his pace. He kept on walking more rapidly, weaving through the crowd, until he was level with the man. Still walking, this man turned slightly sideways to give Sawyer an odd look.

Sawyer smiled reassuringly. "Hey, I'm a big fan of yours. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about what your job is like in the Games Headquarters, and about you playing such a big role in the Hunger Games?"

The man relaxed visibly. He even looked rather flattered. "Of course. I'm always happy to chat with my admirers," said the man.

_How simple. Appeal to their ego, and it all comes together. _"I know a real wonderful place to dine," said Sawyer. "The cuisine there is quite delicious. What do you say, my treat?"

"That works for me. I'm actually on my lunch break right now. Lead the way, son," replied the man.

And so Sawyer did. Sawyer ever-so subtly steered the man away from the main, colorful streets with their throngs of people, and led the man down a less-used side street. Now, the man began to look suspicious. "I don't see any restaurants," he said in a bewildered tone. "Are you sure you know where you're going?"

Sawyer took a final check around; yes, he had the perfect number of witnesses. Not enough to impede his escape, but enough in order to accurately report the coming act. "No. But I know where you're going," he replied coolly.

Then Sawyer plunged his old-fashioned knife deep into the man's heart. He stabbed him in the ribs again just to be sure. And then once more in the upper torso for good luck.

The man crumpled to the ground, blood running from the three separate stab wounds. He tried to speak, but the only gasps that came out were incoherent.

Sawyer didn't stick around to watch him suffer his last moments. Sawyer took off immediately after having stabbed the man. His next task: to incarcerate the knife. Nothing would be left behind. No evidence. No trace.

As he sprinted away, the sounds of people screaming, the wails of the sirens already in his ears, he thought, _too easy. Their arrogance is…their undoing._

An hour later, a purple and red-haired man was at the scene of the crime. His wig had been changed, and his skin had been scrubbed completely clean to its normal tanned hue. This newcomer joined the growing mob on this little side-street and exclaimed to no one in particular, "Oh, my! What happened?"

~/~/~/~/~/

"_The renowned Hunger Games announcer, Claudius Templesmith died today. From early examination of the body, it can be determined that the cause of death was not accidental. He appears to have been murdered. Eyewitness accounts report a pink-haired man with blue skin to be the culprit. Anyone matching that description should be reported. Authorities claim that this murder is another vile act of rebellion by the outlying Districts, and they call on the government to take strong action. More details to follow on this story_."

President Snow clicked a small button on his remote. The wide-screen digital television that had been playing the latest news broadcast instantly followed his command and shut off. He pressed another button on an in-set panel on his hand-carved mahogany desk and said in a level tone, "Send him in."

Peeta Mellark entered the room and took the armchair opposite from the President, looking quite different from his dreadful state an hour prior. He had showered, dressed in a fresh suit, and had combed his ashy blond hair with the utmost care. The President was not a man that you wanted to appear disheveled in front of. Bad things tended to happen to a person if they invoked his displeasure.

The President cut right to the chase, and asked Peeta, "Have you seen the latest news about Templesmith?"

Just like it was with every such encounter with the President, Peeta's mind was racing. Working to come up with exactly the right response. The response that wouldn't pinpoint Peeta as a not-so-devoted follower of the Capitol. A response that wouldn't mark him for death. "Yes, I have."

The President leaned closer. "And what do you think of this news?"

"We need to strike back at the rebels. Fast and hard. They need to learn that they can't get away with this sort of heinous crime that easily," answered Peeta with a determined look. But under the façade of determination, he was cursing himself rather vehemently.

"You're quite right," said President Snow. "In fact, I have just completed the plans for such a strike. Rather than crush these rebels physically and in material terms, we also need to destroy their intangible beliefs and hopes. That is why, tonight, a select commando team has already left for District 12. The mission objective: the kidnapping and summary execution of Primrose Everdeen. If she is eliminated, the spark of the rebellion will truly cease to exist."

Peeta's stomach lurched. It was all he could do to avoid being sick at the learning of the news of the commando strike. But the words came out of his mouth before his brain even realized what he was saying. "President, let me handle the Everdeen matter…personally."

~/~/~/~/~/

"So Claudius Templesmith was assassinated, and so the Capitol now wants to kill _me_? Tell me how that makes sense," said Prim in a sarcastic tone.

"It makes perfect sense, sweetheart," answered Haymitch. He adjusted his seating to make himself more comfortable in the cramped hoverbike. "Katniss was the inspiration that helped kick off the whole rebellion. She died a martyr to her cause, the cause of liberty and freedom. The cause of the rebellion that is now stirring. But you are still alive. As her sister, and as a most recent Hunger Games victor, you are viewed by all of Panem as the hero who will take up her mantle and lead the rebels to victory."

Gale winced. Haymitch had said the name. Somehow, not saying her name aloud made the horrible pain of her loss easier to deal with. And as Gale thought back to that Reaping day that had put all of these events in motion, he realized that the terrible irony of it was, the whole disaster could have been averted…

"_We could do it, you know," Gale said quietly._

"_What?" Katniss asked. She had no idea what he meant._

"_Leave the district. Run. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it," Gale said._

But as Gale sat there in the hoverbike that was flying through the woods, lost deep in thought despite the roar of the engine, he realized that if he and Katniss had actually run away that day, while Katniss would still be alive, others wouldn't be. Prim would have definitely died in the Hunger Games without Katniss to volunteer for her, and Peeta would have been a goner for sure as well. Despite his negative feelings towards Peeta, he still didn't wish him to be out of this life permanently.

Not like…her.

And if the two of them actually had left that day, this whole rebellion would not even be beginning. Because the Games would have ended as they usually did, with some Career, probably Cato, coming out victorious. No defiance of the Capitol would have occurred, because there wouldn't have been two winners in order to give hope to the growing rebellion. So in a way, the death of Katniss was for the greater good.

That still didn't make it any easier for Gale to deal with.

"So where are we headed now?" asked Gale of Madge in the driver's seat.

"Well, we can't do this alone. We're going to need some help in order to rebel. Help in order to set the uprising in motion. The help of people who are natural anarchists and who have been resisting the Capitol quietly for some time now," Madge said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Gale had the air of someone that was becoming impatient. "So…what does that mean?"

Madge turned the steering yoke of the hoverbike sharply to the left. Everyone else hung on for dear life as Madge said, "We're going to District 13."

**I kind of have doubts about this whole story idea all of a sudden...and I'm debating whether to continue. I'm wondering if it doesn't fit the traditional Hunger Games fanfic style. Please, please review and let me know what you thought of this chapter! Reviews totally make my day!**


	2. A Quiet Existence

**Wow, 17 reviews the first chapter; thanks to all who reviewed! To those who I can't reply to: ****fox- Thanks! Yes, it all becomes revealed in this chapter. ****Jane- Thanks so much for the kind review! It made me laugh (in a good way).**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**Here we go! Please read and review!**

"Say that again…slower," slurred Haymitch in the front passenger seat. While driving, Madge stole a quick look at him. Yes, the telltale top of a whiskey bottle was sticking out of his pocket. Madge sighed in frustratration. You'd think that with people's lives on the line; he could hold off a bit on the drinking!

"What does that mean?" asked Prim. "I thought District 13 was obliterated after the major rebellion seventy-five years ago. At least, that's what I was taught in history class."

"No, what you've been taught is correct, District 13 was destroyed," said Madge._ They're never going to believe this…_

Gale leaned closer in order to hear better over the whistling wind. "Then why are we going there?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, cut to the chase. You really keep us hanging, you know that?" burst out Haymitch. He was just lowering the bottle of whiskey away from his mouth.

Madge held on to the steering yoke of the bike with one hand, and grabbed the alcohol bottle away from Haymitch with the other. "That's quite enough for you for one day. Why don't you take a nap or something?"

"Not until I hear this," Haymitch said. "C'mon sweetheart, what's the deal?"

Madge took a deep breath. "OK then," she said cautiously. "The reason we're going to District 13…is because we'll find people there. People that are ready and willing to help our cause."

Prim sat up straight in surprise. "There's people living in District 13!?" she exclaimed.

Madge replied with a simple, "Yes."

"You know that for sure?" asked Gale. His voice made it clear that he thought the news was too good or too unbelievable to be true.

Madge sighed. This wasn't going to sound good. "No," she admitted. "But my father told me that if something like this ever happened, District 13 would be the place to go to."

"Really?" asked Prim.

"Really," said Mage. She could still remember the day…

_In fact, it was the very day that the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games had ended. The Undersees had been throwing a grand party at their lavish house, hosting various officials, Peacekeepers, mainly the few well-to-do members of District 12. Madge never liked these parties, but she gritted her teeth and put on a cheery façade. Smiling, laughing, and acknowledging various people and dignitaries with warm greetings even though she had no idea what their name was. What else was the Mayor's daughter expected to do? _

_So after the multiples of people had left, (some of them staggering out because of the heavy celebratory intoxication that was the inevitable effect of District 12 turning out victorious in the Hunger Games) after Madge had helped her father pick up the scattered debris from the floor, after the house was once again spotless, Mayor Undersee had said, "Madge, can I talk to you seriously for a moment?"_

"_Sure, dad," replied Madge. They both took seats in the plush salon. Madge plopped down on the two-seater couch, and her father eased himself gingerly onto an armchair across from her. "What's up?"_

_The Mayor sighed. "The thing is, dear…this double win is not going to make the Capitol happy. You're sixteen now, so I figure it's time for you to know a few more things about the realities of this world. The Capitol is going to want to retaliate in some way. It may be tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, but no matter how long it takes, the Capitol will strike back at District 12."_

"_Why are you telling me this?" asked Madge with a touch of fear._

"_Because…as you know, I'm not a big fan of the Capitol. I don't agree with their wanton cruelty, their ongoing reign of tyranny, many things…but that's not the point. The point is, as my daughter, you may find yourself in danger one day. And if that day ever comes, Panem forbid, you're going to need a safe haven. A place to go to if you're…shall we say…on the run."_

"_And where would that place be?"_

_The Mayor leaned closer, and at that moment, his face was the most serious and most grave that Madge had ever seen it. Madge recoiled a bit out of reflex. "District 13," her father said. _

So as Madge continued to swerve the hoverbike around trees and bushes and such in the forest, she fervently hoped that her father was right. Because if there turned out to be nothing in District 13...where else would they go?

"Hey, this tastes pretty good," remarked Gale from the backseat of the bike. Whipping around, Madge saw that he had just taken a modest sip from Haymitch's whiskey bottle.

In exasperation, Madge burst out, "Really Gale? You too?"

~/~/~/~/~/

Peeta Mellark alighted from the twenty-car Capitol train, and immediately covered his eyes and squinted a bit to shield himself from the bright morning sun. The sunny cheeriness of the outdoors on this particular day certainly did not reflect Peeta's mood. His mood was in fact the total opposite at the moment.

Because Peeta had business to conduct. Capitol business. And Capitol business was never pleasant; it made for an instant mood-souring. And this particular business…was perhaps the most unpleasant of all to have to carry out.

As Peeta stepped away from the train, his second-in-command on this task, a young fellow by the name of Bemus, jumped down behind him and remarked, "Wow." His hard eyes surveyed the dilapidated, beleaguered train station. "This place is really a mess. It certainly could use some renovation work."

Peeta's eyes raked over his run-down surroundings with a wistful gaze. It wasn't often that he got the chance to spend time here anymore. His new duties with the Capitol kept him firmly placed there, with no real opportunity for distractions. "Yeah," he replied with a half-smile. He began to walk forward, with Bemus following close behind. "Home sweet home."

~/~/~/~/

A knock sounded at the front door. In his study, Cinna the stylist got up from his desk from where had been stenciling out fashion designs and crossed his house to the door. As always, he peeked through the porthole set in the metal door first. In these increasingly turbulent times, one just couldn't be too safe.

When Cinna saw that the caller was someone that he was familiar with, he opened the door rapidly and exclaimed, "You!"

Sawyer Thistlewine replied simply, "Yeah, me."

Cinna cast a furtive look around his residential block. Not a soul was in sight. "Get in, get in, quickly!" After they were both safely inside the house, Cinna hurriedly slammed the door shut.

After doing so, he turned around to face Sawyer. With arms crossed and with a mix of curiosity and annoyance, he asked, "What are you doing still doing here? After you committed the…deed, I thought you were going to hop on a train out of this city? Whatever happened to that plan?"

Sawyer had been staying with Cinna the past week, doing his surveillance work, setting the stage for the murder that had been committed the previous day. With his work complete, Sawyer's time in the Capitol was up. His presence here was not according to plan. And when plans went awry, they tended to have wide-spread consequences.

Cinna sighed inwardly. Why did he ever get involved with the rebels in the first place?

_Because it's the right thing to do. Because the Capitol is the very definition of pure evil. Because it's your duty to help improve Panem in any way you can. Sometimes, a little risk is the price of freedom._

"What ever happened to that plan?" repeated Sawyer. "What happened to that plan, was, the Capitol locked down all forms of civilian transportation as a result of the murder. No trains, cars, planes, hovercrafts, hoverbikes, no nothing. I'm stuck here, unless I want to draw further attention to myself by trying to hijack a vehicle while the Capitol is under a high state of alert. Which would definitely prove to be fatal."

Cinna inhaled deeply in frustration. "Well, then, I guess we have no choice. You have to stay here and lie low until things cool down. But I'd really prefer it if the number 1 criminal to catch in all of Panem were not living under my roof for the duration of the investigation."

"C'mon, pal, loosen up," said Sawyer with a trace of mirth. "I'm sure it won't be for too long. And besides, I'm not number 1. That honor would belong to a Miss Primrose Everdeen."

Then, realizing what he had said, Sawyer fell silent. Mentioning Primrose was all-too-close to the mention of a certain someone. Her deceased sister.

Without replying, Cinna turned away and stalked away from the room.

Because Cinna was still reeling from the death of Katniss. When she had come under his care a year prior, from one look, he could tell that her cause was certainly not hopeless. He could tell that she had a real good chance to win the Hunger Games. Her image of being the radiant Fire Girl and one of the famous star-crossed lovers had only served to heighten the feeling of her seeming invincibility.

And then she had died. Not in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, but in the Seventy-Fifth. The Games that she was supposed to not be in danger from. Her supposed security from the Hunger Games didn't stop the Capitol in the end. That rule change that had brought about her death was just another form of expressing their revenge on Katniss for her action a year before. Eventually, the Capitol had gotten exactly what they wanted.

No matter how long it had taken.

Sawyer caught up with Cinna. "Hey, man, I'm sorry. I know that the mention of the last name dredges up even more painful memories for you than it does for me. I know the connection you had with her."

"And now she's gone!" Cinna burst out. "She's gone, and I never got the chance to tell her!" Cinna slumped down, his face in his hands, a fresh wave of tears threatening to come spilling out of his gold-flecked eyes.

Sawyer kneeled down next to him on the floor and laid a hand on his shoulder. "There's still Prim," Sawyer said. "You can still tell her what you never got the chance to tell Katniss."

With a visible effort, Cinna recovered. "Yes," he whispered. "There is."

Cinna stood up from the polished floor, and forced a smile. He had to move on. He had to keep going. It's what Katniss would want. "So," he said trying to put a little happiness and laughter into his voice. "You know the price of staying on my house without rent, right?"

"No," answered Sawyer. He stood up as well. Picking up on Cinna's effort to eradicate the somber mood, he replied with equal false enthusiasm. "What would that be? Am I going to like it?"

"You get to try on my latest clothes designs! Come on, this way," replied Cinna with a mischievous grin.

Throwing up his hands, Sawyer followed. "The things I have to put up with-"

~/~/~/~/

General Peeta Mellark and Commander Bemus, his second-in-command, rendezvoused with the commando strike team that had been sent ahead of Peeta in the middle of District 12's main square.

Of course, they weren't alone. People were milling about the town square. Some were purchasing items in the surrounding shops, and others were simply loafing about. But all of the citizens had at least one thing in common. They would all stop and shoot a look of utter scorn at the group of men dressed in military uniforms with the insignia of the Capitol upon it.

The military officers would pretend to not even notice the dirty looks. They also felt that the meeting had no reason to be held in a more private place either. The main square, in front of everyone, was fine with them. It's only District 12, they reasoned. The people are inferior anyway. Why bother?

But unlike his colleagues, Peeta felt utterly pained. He couldn't bear it that his fellow people who had once rooted for him and cheered him on were now regarding him as a terrible villain. It was almost like being back in the Hunger Games, and being a member of the Careers again…

And speaking of the Hunger Games, Peeta did not so much like the choice of meeting today. The town square brought back too many unpleasant memories of that fateful Reaping day. But Bemus was the one who had arranged the time and place, and so Peeta couldn't do anything to help it without looking too odd. He had survived the Hunger Games, he reasoned. He could surely get through its after-effects…

Peeta kicked off the grim proceedings by saying to the commando team, "So. Who's the team leader here?"

A man, one taller than the others and with an air of authority about him, stepped forward and replied, "Captain Walent, sir."

Peeta regarded Captain Walent with a convincing air of sternness as he tried to steel himself for what he had to do next. "Captain. From what I understand from your communiqué, you failed in the primary objective of the strike. The capture of Primrose Everdeen."

"Yessir," answered Walent with perfect military precision. "But we did manage to capture a secondary target that will have some value in locating Primrose Everdeen."

"Show me this person," Peeta said coolly.

Two members of the strike team produced an additional member. This person's hands were tied tightly together with strong rope, and the person's feet were bound as well, leaving only just enough slack to walk somewhat uncomfortably. A dark hood concealed the head of the captive.

Captain Walent swept the hood off the captive's face, revealing the mother of Primrose, Odona. "Peeta, you piece of-"

With detached icyness in his voice, Peeta said, "Gag her."

The men complied with his order, covering her mouth with duct tape and pulling the hood back over her head. Now all that could be heard was muffled murmurs. In addition, nobody else in the square had noticed the identity of the captive. The unmasking had occured much too quickly.

Captain Walent looked at Peeta pleadingly. His expression was similar to one of a small child seeking approval from its parents, but knowing that it won't come. "You see, we can use her as a hostage. As bait. We can flush out the younger Everdeen with her mother!"

"Perhaps so, Captain," answered Peeta. To hear him now, he sounded nothing like the timid, kind bread-baker that he had once been. That was a different Peeta. In contrast to the baking fires he had once dealt with, Peeta was now as cold as ice. "But the fact remains is that you failed in your primary objective. We do not tolerate failure in this army, Captain. Especially a failure with these catastrophic consequences. As a Captain, you certainly know the price of failure, do you not?"

"I do," said Captain Walent. His expression was now one of a man resigned to his fate. He had done his best. He would live with the consequences.

"Good," replied Peeta. The coming act had to be done. It was standard procedure in the Capitol's military. If he didn't do it, he would put himself under heavy suspicion. The whole farce was all in her honor, after all. He had to play his part sincerly. So with deep sadness and regret in his heart, Peeta took something out of his belt holster, handling it with the utmost care.

And in front of all the District 12 passerby, Peeta pointed his Alti 26 pistol at the Captain and shot him cleanly in the forehead.

So maybe Captain Walent wouldn't live with the consequences.

~/~/~/~/~/

"We're here," announced Madge.

She stopped the motor of the hoverbike, and jumped down from her seat. However, the other three remained seated on the bike. Madge looked at them in puzzlement.

Haymitch pointed out, "Hey, sweetheart, if District 13 is in the middle of the forest, I think your pops was pullin' your leg on about there being people there."

"No," answered Madge in an annoyed tone. "My father told me that we had to approach the last few yards or so on foot. He said that approaching on a vehicle without permission would only be taken as a threat, and that if we did so, we would be regarded as a threat. Trust me; you do not want to be regarded as a threat."

So following Madge's instructions, the other three exited the hoverbike as well.

In the middle of the forest, Madge pointed to a sort of weathered dirt path snaking through the trees. "See that? That's the way in."

"How do you know?" questioned Gale.

"Because my father told me," said Madge. _Man, that sounds lame._

Madge continued, "We'll walk in a single-file line, following this path. Prim, you're first. I'll be second to show you the way."

"Why am I first?" asked Prim in resistance.

"So they recognize you and don't kill us on sight," replied Madge with a hint of impatience.

Disregarding for the most part the second half of that ominous statement, Prim kept on pushing Madge's temper. "How do you know they'll recognize me?"

"Sweetheart, get used to it. Your pretty little face with the blond hair and blue eyes is the most widely-known face in all of Panem right now. There must be wanted posters in every single District by now," said Haymitch honestly.

Madge nodded. "And trust me; these people will know who you are. After all, you represent their last hope."

Prim closed her eyes and collected herself. When she opened her eyes after a minute, she said with determination, "Alright. Let's move out."

Gale flicked away a particularly grotesque spider that had been crawling on his arm. "About time."

And so with the pre-determined order, the party began to walk upon the old path set in the middle of the woods.

~/~/~/~/

The group had been walking on the path for barely two minutes when a man seemingly appeared out of thin air directly in front of them. That was the good part. The bad part was that the man was training a stock rifle on the four of them.

The man yelled hostilely, "Who are you people? Tell me how you found this place, and your deaths will be quick. If you don't tell, your deaths will be long and painful…"

Madge was too scared to even say 'I told you so'. But she didn't lose her head entirely. "This is Primrose Everdeen!" she screamed, pointing to Prim. "You really want to kill her?"

The man slightly lowered his rifle in disbelief. Prim squirmed in discomfort as the man's eyes raked over her form. "Well, I'll be. It really is her! Come, this way, with haste, with haste." And stowing away his gun, the man turned around quickly to follow the path, with the other four close on his heels.

Prim whispered to Madge, "Are you sure this is safe? Should we get out of here? He could have blown our heads off!"

Madge whispered back, "How do you think they've stayed undetected for so long? They have to be cautious. If they get careless, they will be killed."

Prim was silent for a moment. _She's right._

But Prim was also nervous. She was now one step closer to fulfilling her sister's last wish. She had found the core of the uprising. Now, she had to follow through. There was no turning back now.

And then before long, the path ended in a gigantic clearing, still in the middle of the woods. Prim gasped when she saw what lay ahead.

Because in front of her, was civilization.

It was wondrous. It was simple. It was beautiful.

In front of her eyes were a series of simple dwellings. Houses made from a mixture of wood, vines, and leaves. Fire rings scattered around the houses. Plots of land where crops were blooming. A steady river filled with flowing water in the middle of it all. While it was nothing advanced, it was more than anyone could have hoped for.

The newcomers were speechless. They stopped short in surprise. Nothing could have prepared them for this moment. Never did they imagine that there would actually be human beings eking out a living in the woods. And while it was very primitive, it was quite attractive at the same time.

And the clearing wasn't barren of people. It was teeming with life. Children laughing, adults conversing with each other, farmers tending the crops, others were collecting water from the river. This wasn't just an abandoned outpost in the middle of the forest. It was a full-fledged village.

As the villagers became aware of the newcomers, they began to murmur amongst themselves excitedly and point. The four stood there, awkwardly, feeling like caged animals on display.

But one of the villagers, a lean, middle-aged man with graying hair quickly stepped up to them. His eyes alighting on Prim, he exclaimed "Ah! The sister of Katniss! The savior of the rebellion!"

Feeling a bit like she was being overestimated and a little too exalted, Prim replied humbly, "Yeah, that's me, I suppose."

The man continued, "My name is Ritchell. I'm the head of District 13; I suppose you could call me the mayor. I know who you are, Primrose, but would you other three be so kind as to introduce yourselves?"

"Hold on," interrupted Gale. "You can't expect us to just walk into the long-lost District 13 and just go with the flow. I don't know about these three, but I'm practically bursting with questions. Can we go somewhere more private, so you can fill us in on the whole story of how you guys came to be here?"

"As you wish," replied Ritchell.

~/~/~/~/~/

Once the five of them were seated comfortably in Ritchell's modest dwelling, Ritchell began by saying, "I apologize for the way Hran greeted you as you entered the District. Don't let his demeanor fool you; we do welcome outlaws from the Capitol. He just gets a little carried away sometimes."

"It's fine," said Prim shortly. The reason for the brusque response was because she was being very observant and taking in her surroundings.

The inside of Ritchell's house reflected the flavor of the outside community. The furniture was made from wood and nature, and covered with the sleek fur of animals. Tables were made out of hard wood as well. Peering into another room, she could see a moderately-sized bed of soft animal hair based on rocks. A bedcover of lamb wool lay on top of the bed.

"Now, I understand that you all may be feeling utterly overwhelmed or be in deep shock. That's what everyone else felt when they first arrived here. But, we're a friendly group of people here, kind and welcoming, and we'll do everything we can to make your assimilation as easy as possible," said Ritchell kindly.

"Greeting us with open rifles is not my definition of welcoming," muttered Haymitch.

Throwing Haymitch a look, Prim said to Ritchell, "Thank you very much. But as I think _you_ can understand, we're dying to know how you came to be here. Can you tell us that?"

Gale had winced when Prim said 'dying'.

"Surely," said Ritchell readily.

"Now as you know, District 13 was destroyed seventy-five years ago by the Capitol because of the major rebellion. It was obliterated to send a message to the rest of Panem; that resistance to them was futile. Punishment would be swift. You know this."

"But what only a small minority in all of Panem knows is, a quarter of a century ago, a man by the name of Aden Skirata, a resident of District 12, decided to revive District 13. So, he traveled to the site where we are right now to find all remnants of the radioactive bombs to finally be dissimilated. The trees and plants were beginning to flourish again. Life was again returning to this site after fifty years."

"So Aden Skirata recruited trustworthy followers, who like him, detested the Capitol. Aden's dream was to remake the remains of District 13 into a safe haven where fugitives from the Capitol would be accepted. He wanted people who did not wish to suffer under the tyranny of the Capitol to be able to go to a place where they could live more freely. And twenty-five years later, you can see that his dream succeeded. District 13 is now reborn."

"So where's this Aden Skirata now?" asked Gale.

Ritchell's face clouded with sadness. "Father passed away four years ago. As his son, I took over as head of District 13."

"Excuse me for not believing this whole story, but I find it extremely hard to believe that the Capitol hasn't located this little village you've got here for twenty-five long years," said Haymitch with his usual tact.

"It's hard sometimes, that's for sure," answered Ritchell. "You have to understand some things. We can't have products such as televisions or computers, because the Capitol could pick up those devices on electronic scanners. The overhead forest canopy forms a natural barrier from the air; no Capitol jets can spot us from above. And keeping with its customary arrogance, the Capitol doesn't bother to send patrols out here to check on the remains of District 13. It thinks the job is done, and that's that."

"But what about the pictures of District 13 that are sometimes shown on the general television in order to keep the Districts in line?" asked Prim in confusion. She had certainly seen enough of those.

Ritchell laughed. "They use the same picture every time; it is just edited a little bit each instance it's shown."

"If this place is such a secret…how do people know to come here to escape the law?" This from Gale.

Ritchell answered, "We've got a network of spies and contacts all over Panem; a few people in each District. If they get wind of someone having a dislike towards the Capitol, and that if someone expresses a genuine wish to be residing somewhere else, our people make the necessary arrangements to bring them here. They have to be deemed trustworthy, of course. Not any old person is allowed to live here.

"Also, when someone is convicted of a crime in the Districts, one of our people approaches them if the convict is evaluated to be a worthy candidate. If the convict agrees to leave, they are transported quietly here. If they disagree…well…they're being executed anyway…so our secret stays safe."

Prim winced. A true, but harsh reality.

"Go back to the 'transported quietly here' part," said Haymitch. "From what I've seen, you don't have any means of transportation here."

"But we do," replied Ritchell. "Not much, but we have about ten hovercrafts and hoverbikes. Supplies are also imported from each District, such as fuel and weapons to serve our purposes. Our workers in the Districts never steal too much to be noticed; only a little at a time. We can't afford to draw the Capitol's attention upon ourselves."

Which is something very similar to what that fox-faced girl back in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games did, noted Prim in her subconscious.

"So how many people live here?" asked Madge curiously.

"Around a hundred or so. Most of the children you see are adopted by the adults here; almost nobody here is related to each other. In fact, it's time for you to meet my own adopted son. Asher, come here!"

A boy just about Prim's age revealed himself from an adjoining room. He had dark brown skin and eyes, with a facial expression that had seen too much to be the countenance of a normal child. He said somewhat timidly, "Hello. I'm Asher."

"What District are you from?" asked Gale kindly.

"District 11," replied Asher earnestly. "I was caught stealing food for my family. Since my sister died, it had been especially hard to get by, so I had no choice but to try and take some from others. But before I was to be…punished, a nice man came to me and offered me the chance to escape. I jumped on it, and so here I am."

"You know, I lost a sister too," said Prim. Then she immediately regretted saying it. Why was she revealing that personal fact about herself to this stranger? And such a painful one, too. She then realized, Asher must have already known. In fact, all of Panem knew about Katniss. She just had to accept that fact. "What was your sister's name?

"She was a competitor in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. Her name was Rue. I'm her younger twin," Asher said.

~/~/~/~/

As Prim tried to get some sleep that night, she realized it was not going to happen. Too much had taken place that day for her to simply drop off into slumber. She had too many revelations to reflect on.

Number one, discovering the existence of District 13. Granted, it was a much regressed society, but still, it was something. Even so, at times she still thought it all just one big hallucination. That it wasn't real. But the rational part of her only hoped that this community filled with resistors was enough to help her motivate the rest of Panem to overthrow the Capitol.

Another surprising revelation she had learned about today was Asher. Prim remembered Katniss telling her about Rue. About how Rue had reminded her of Prim, about how Rue had many younger siblings, about how saddened Katniss was at her death. Well, it seemed that fate had thrown Asher and Prim, two younger survivors of two older sisters, together for better or worse.

And some part of Prim couldn't help but think that Asher was pretty cute.

_Stop that, _Prim silently admonished herself. _You have a duty to fulfill. You have no time for distractions._

But that still didn't stop Prim from blocking Asher out of her mind.

~/~/~/~/

Around Ritchell's cramped breakfast table the next morning, the six of them were enjoying a delicious meal of wild berries and delicious venison.

"So that's how you get food around here? You gather, fish, and hunt?" asked Gale. He could certainly relate to that. He could remember the precious time and effort required to piece together a collection of something that resembled a meal.

Ritchell nodded. "Yes, that's correct. We also get various imports of food along with the other supplies, but yes, mostly, that's how we collect our food."

Haymitch stopped eating for a second. "Hold on. I've been thinking, and I've realized, this whole thing is hopeless. The rebellion failed last time, seventy-five years ago. You know why? Because the Districts were inferior to the Capitol. While very few citizens in the wealthier Districts today are equipped with modern weapons, most people in Panem only own weapons such as knives or bows and arrows. If they own weapons at all. Do you seriously think you're going to succeed this time around? Please tell me I'm not seeing the whole picture, right?"

Gale shot Haymitch a dirty look. He'd been acting more grumpy and more of a mean cuss than usual lately. And Gale wondered, why?

But Ritchell replied to Haymitch, "No. You're absolutely right, there's more to the picture that you haven't yet seen. Trust me, help is on the way as we speak."

"And just where is this help coming from?" asked Haymitch sarcastically. His tone made it clear that he wasn't buying a word of what Ritchell was saying.

Ritchell answered, "From outside the country of Panem. From the nation of Zenal."

**Please, please, review! They totally make my day and keep me motivated to write!**

**Anyone notice that Asher and Sawyer are names of plants/flowers? You know, keeping with the whole tradition: Katniss, Primrose, Rue, Clove...**


	3. Planting Seeds

**Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter! To Jane who I can't reply to- Thanks for the nice review! Cinna's connection becomes clear in this chapter.**

**Anyone see the season 5 finale of LOST yesterday? Man, that was epic...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own nothing.**

"Zenal?" asked Haymitch in bewilderment.

He was bewildered because he had never heard of the nation of Zenal. Of course, the natives of Panem knew that there were other countries that existed in the world. But they didn't know any real specifics of most nations, because the Capitol kept that knowledge hidden from them.

On purpose, of course. The Capitol didn't want anybody forming an alliance with an outside nation because it could prove disastrous if that country decided to attack Panem. Thereby possibly ending the Capitol's reign.

Ritchell nodded. "Yes, Zenal. It's a relatively smaller country, on the east coast of what used to be the continent of Asia."

"Never heard of it either," afirmed Gale. He put a finger to his chin in the universal "thinking" pose. "The only ones I learned about in school were the Euro-Afro Alliance, and the Pan-Oceanic Federation. And I only learned about them because they're both good buddies with the Capitol."

"Right," said Madge. From her sure tone, Haymitch could tell that she had learned about this topic as well. From the lost looks on Prim and Asher's faces, they apparently had no idea what the two older teens were talking about.

Madge continued, "Those two nations and Panem are known as the Big Three. They are the strongest nations in the entire world, each of them owning the honorific of 'superpower'. But I agree with Gale, I've never come across the name of Zenal anywhere."

"That's because Zenal is not the best of friends with the Capitol," said Ritchell. He put down his fork and slid his plate away from him. In fact, everyone's food lay forgotten on the small dining table. "Zenal condemns the practice of the Hunger Games, and is very outspoken about denouncing it and the Capitol in general."

"Then why doesn't Zenal do something about it?" anxiously asked Prim.

"The answer is simply because Zenal doesn't have the military power to take on the Capitol and emerge clearly victorious. While Zenal is very advanced technologically, its armed forces simply do not match up with those of the Capitol," answered Ritchell.

Haymitch then asked the obvious question. "Then how the hell is this rebellion going to succeed if they're not strong enough?" _Why can't they see that?_

Ritchell replied readily, "They may not be strong enough to take on the Capitol alone…but with the combined forces of Zenal and the Districts of Panem, the Capitol can be overthrown. It can happen."

"That's got to be the corniest line I've ever heard," said Haymitch. He got up from the table and surveyed the others with a scathing look. They returned his piercing gaze with looks of confusion. "I sure as hell hope that you District 13 people know what you're doing. Otherwise, we're royally screwed."

Haymitch stormed out of Ritchell's primitive hut. _They don't see that this cause is practically hopeless? This rebellion has a snowball's chance in hell of being successful. The Capitol is simply too powerful. Why bother?_

And so while striding angrily through the vibrant village of District 13, never noticing the curious stares he received from the villagers, Haymitch reflected. He thought about everything: the rebellion, his past, his experience in the Hunger Games, the present situation he now found himself in, the future…everything.

And so after much deliberation, Haymitch Abernathy made a choice.

~/~/~/~/

_Why do they yell such abuse at us? At me? Don't they see that I'm only doing what is necessary? What must be done?_

General Peeta Mellark stood behind the very podium that Effie Trinket had once stood behind when she had called his name at that fateful Reaping, so long ago. On the very same stage that he had once ascended. In the very same town square that he had once stood in.

Only, now Peeta had another memory to associate with the town square. The place where had he committed his third kill.

The girl from District 8 in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games had been the first. But that wasn't anything bad, really. The girl had been at death's door already, bleeding from about ten different cuts and other such wounds. Peeta had simply eased her pain, eased her passage into the next life.

Then had come the girl from District 5, the fox-faced one. Peeta had even never learned her real name. But that kill had been accidental. A fluke. He didn't know that those berries were poisonous. He didn't know that the girl was stalking them, marauding off of them. He had never meant for it to happen at all.

But the last one, he had meant for it to happen. In fact, he had caused it. He had knowingly, willingly, pointed his gun at Captain Walent, and shot him in the skull. He had known that the Captain would die because of him. He had _known_. And that knowledge was what had made this kill different from the other two.

Peeta sighed heavily. _Well there is the famous saying: the third time's the charm. How right it is…_

But there was another facet different about today then there was from that fateful Reaping day. The difference being, Peeta now stood confidently onstage, instead of waiting anxiously down below in the square.

This symbolized how much things have changed since then. How the tables have turned. And as he stood behind that podium, Peeta realized how it felt to hold all the power. To be safe and secure. To not be one of the many people who had no idea about their future. To not be one of the many people who didn't even know if they would _have_ a future.

_It feels good. _

But Peeta was not all alone onstage. He was flanked by Commander Bemus and another officer, a Commodore Adarsh on his left. Their hard faces betrayed no emotion as they started outwards blankly.

And on Peeta's right, stood a precisely straight line of Capitol soldiers. The remainder of the strike team. They held their machine rifles at the ready, just in case things got out of hand. From their loose postures and twitchy fingers, it was obvious to tell that the men were just itching to use them.

And who would they use them on? Why, the crowd in the square, of course. On the citizens of District 12 that stared at Peeta, some with sadness, some with fury. The citizens that were staring at Peeta with fury were of course the ones that were the ones yelling abuse at him.

"Murdering scumbag!"

"Traitor!"

"…Turned your back on your own _District!_"

And then on the faces of those with sadness, Peeta saw only a simple question. _Why?_

If only Peeta could tell them. _In her honor. _

But Peeta could not tell those citizens the reason he was serving with the Capitol. He could only serve.

One of the Capitol soldiers fired a warning shot from his gun into the air. This instantly quieted the screaming crowd, more aptly called the mob. And in the perfect silence that followed, Peeta began to speak.

"The Capitol has declared martial law on the Twelfth District of Panem. Effective immediately, the District is now going to be overseen by the military, not by the mayor."

This was the reason why Peeta had not traveled from the Capitol in a single-seater aerial jet. He had traveled by train because the train could house multiple occupants. In this case, five hundred soldiers had accompanied him on the journey. And those same five hundred soldiers now were ready to take up their posts on the common streets of District 12.

The crowd began to yell and murmur again, but another warning shot from a soldier again silenced the people. And Peeta continued to speak.

"This martial law will last until District 12 gives up the person of the name Primrose Everdeen. Not until she is in Capitol custody will the armed forces leave this District. If you give her up…you all live in freedom thereafter. Think about it."

It all made sense to Peeta. Prim had to be hiding somewhere in District 12. Because frankly, she couldn't have gone anywhere else, right?

No, he reasoned. Either she was eking out a harsh living in the back alleys, or a sympathetic family was offering her refuge.

And if a family was actually offering her refuge…that family would be executed right along side the refugee.

But Peeta was suddenly jerked from his train of thought when someone from the front row leaped onto the stage. That someone pointed accusingly at Peeta and yelled, "You traitorous bastard! How does it feel to have fallen so low? How does it-"

The agitator's body was blown back into the crowd, the victim of dozens of bullets fired from the soldier's guns. The crowd inhaled in horror at what they had just witnessed. Not only because of the gruesome act itself, but also because of the identity of the person. The Mellark family's eldest son, Peeta Mellark's own brother, Pieder.

But Peeta continued to stand at his podium, thinking all the while about what had just transpired.

_How does it feel, you ask? It feels good, my brother. It feels good._

~/~/~/~/

"What's his deal?" This rhetorical question came from Asher. He was, of course, referring to Haymitch.

"Maybe his years of alcohol abuse are finally catching up with him," responded Gale with a slight smile.

Prim forced down a snort.

Forcing the conversation back to the task at hand, Madge said in a businesslike tone, "Question. Just how are you keeping in contact with the nation of Zenal?"

Ritchell smiled. "It's a wonder, really. Remember how I said that we couldn't have conventional electronic devices like a television for fear of the Capitol detecting them? Well, that rule doesn't apply in this case."

Ritchell produced a chrome-colored 3-inch wide screen apparatus. "This is called a Zeta. It's equipped with a special micro-chip that lets it go under-the radar (no pun intended). It's capable of sending video and text messages. This is how we communicate with our agents in each District, as well as with the Zenalians."

"Where did you get those from? No factory in Panem is capable of producing that, right?" asked Prim.

"Correct. But these are commonplace in Zenal. Allying with them isn't looking so bad, is it now?"

"Just out of curiosity, how did you make contact with them in the first place?" questioned Gale.

"Oh, it was just a matter of stealing a speedy plane from the Capitol, crossing the ocean with no absolutely place to stop for fuel, landing safely in unfamiliar territory, and then establishing a working diplomatic relationship with the head of government without being killed first. All of this being done in the utmost secrecy of course. Piece of cake," said Ritchell mock-arrogantly.

"Sounds like it was a lot of fun," noted Gale sarcastically. "So then, what's the plan of attack?"

Until that point, Prim had never really thought of attacking. Of actual fighting. Some hopeful, idealist part of her mind had thought that the Capitol would simply give in without a fight. This question of Gale's brought her back to reality.

_It will be a full-blown war. And in war, people die. Countless numbers of people._

Ritchell laid it out straight. "The army of the Districts will approach the Capitol from the east. This attack will mainly consist of small groups of select warriors entering the city by hovercrafts or trains and such. This is because the mountains on the eastern Capitol side prevent a large-scale assault from taking place."

"This is where Zenal enters. Because of their location in the world, they have easy access to the Capitol's western flank. Zenal will land its military on this continent, establish a beachhead base, and advance towards the Capitol from that side. We'll catch the Capitol in a pincer movement!"

_What is he talking about? I'm thirteen years old, speak my language buddy! _"What exactly do you mean?" asked Prim.

Ritchell took Prim's lack of comprehension with good-natured acceptance. "Think of the Capitol as a piece of ham in the middle of a sandwich. The Zenalian army is a piece of bread coming down on the sandwich. The infiltrators of the Districts would be the other piece of bread. Together, from two different directions, they put enough pressure on each side of the Capitol that it breaks under the stress. Understand?

"Now you're making some sense," remarked Prim.

~/~/~/~/

Peeta stepped lightly into the small, cramped room on the Capitol train still fimly parked in District 12. Behind him entered Commander Bemus and Commodore Adarsh, guns out at the ready. Peeta's own sidearm was not drawn yet. He didn't think he would be needing it.

Unlike the other rooms in the train, this room had steel-gray colored walls. No windows. Only the one door. It housed a small cot in one corner, a rather dirty toilet in another corner, and a set of silver manacles alongside one wall. There was only one word for this type of room. Prison.

And the sole occupant of this holding cell looked up in fear from the cot as she heard the sound of the heavily barred door unlocking. Peeta could tell that by the desperate, crazed gleam in her light blue eyes that she was totally broken. Little sleep, lack of food, the extreme circumstances in the first place: she was done for. She had given up.

But Peeta couldn't have that just yet. He still had one role left for her to play.

Peeta cuffed her hard on the head and ignored her immediate outburst of pain. "Get up, Odona. You have to do something for me. Haven't you always wanted to be on national television?"

The mother of Primrose and Katniss stood up slowly, whimpering all the while. This was far too much than she was able to handle. She had regressed into her state of when her husband had died. The death of Katniss had been the straw that had simply broken the camel's back. All she wanted to do was let go.

Peeta stood near Odona at a distance, not wanting to soil his spotless Capitol uniform from her griminess. "Start the cameras rolling," he ordered Commodore Adarsh.

"Yessir!"

~/~/~/~/

Gale strolled on the rough dirt path in the middle of District 13, still in a complete daze at what he was seeing. Since he was born, he had been taught that District 13 was no more. It was gone. And now in the thick of that very same District, with another nation that had been hidden from him soon arriving…it was overwhelming to say the least.

_But I must forge on. _

As he walked on, Gale became aware of a girl around his age staring at him. Even from the corner of his eye, Gale could tell that she was quite striking. She had porcelain features, with jet-black hair. But the thing that made her features unique was her deep violet eyes that contrasted so sharply with her dark hair. As Gale turned slowly to look at her, the girl standing in front of a simple hut gave him a rather seductive smile.

Gale broke eye contact quickly, and increased his pace upon the path. _Why? Why do I feel so guilty even merely thinking that she's pretty?_

_Because I'm still not over…her. _

Gale came upon the river in the middle of District 13 that constantly gave off the sound of rushing water. As he kneeled down on all fours, he splashed his face with the cool, refreshing liquid. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the clear water, he abruptly stopped.

Because something about him was…different. The sunken cheeks, the hollow, lifeless eyes, the generally depressed look about him that he had possessed for the past week and few days had faded to a degree.

He now appeared the best he ever had since the conclusion of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games. He looked like someone coming to teerms with the terrible agony dealt him. He looked more…_alive_.

And then Gale was racked by guilt yet again. _I may be alive…but she will never know that feeling again._

_I'm sorry, Katniss._

~/~/~/~/

"Man, I'm going stir-crazy all cooped up in here!" exclaimed Sawyer. "No communication with the outside world! I'm not like you; I'm can't design clothes or read all day. I need something to _do_."

Cinna, sitting in his comfortable armchair, looked up from his novel and smiled knowingly. Producing a Zeta communication device, he said, "You're wrong about the outside world part, Sawyer."

As an instrument agent of the rebellion, Sawyer knew exactly what a Zeta was. "You had that, and didn't tell me?"

Even Cinna was only in his mid-thirties, he increasingly felt more and more like a parent disciplining a young child. "You would use it for mindless entertainment. Me, I've only used it once since you've been here. I spoke to Haymitch Abernathy earlier today. You'll be happy to know that Primrose is safe and sound in District 13."

Sawyer certainly was happy. At least some part of Katniss' legacy could live on in her young sister. He could at least take some small modicum of comfort in that. "Haymitch say anything else important?"

Cinna shook his head. "We just talked about the rebellion and other small stuff. Nothing good."

Sawyer sighed in restlessness. "No more news then, huh? Fine. I guess I'll give the television a try again…"

Finding the remote, he clicked the TV into life. Like it had been during the seemingly-endless day, Sawyer expected to see some boring news report fabricated by the Capitol; nothing interesting.

But what he saw was very different. While it was news, it was definitely not made-up by the Capitol. And it was certainly not boring. It was in fact all-too real…

General Peeta Mellark appeared on the television, standing in the middle of some sort of grimy holding cell. But what Sawyer was really interested was in the person standing next to him.

Odona Everdeen. The mother of Katniss and Primrose.

She was manacled on her hands and feet by heavy chains, garbed in filthy rags, and simply had the look of someone who expected nothing from this harsh world. She just expected to die.

Peeta began the broadcast by saying, "Hello to all out there in Panem. But actually, this broadcast is really only intended for one person. I know you're out there somewhere, Primrose Everdeen."

At the sound of her daughter's name, some sort of life was breathed back into Odona. "Don't do what he says, Prim!" she exclaimed. "Don't-"

A resounding cuff from Peeta sent Odona sprawling to the dirty floor. "I wouldn't advise you to listen to your mother, Primrose," he said nastily. "In fact, your dear mother is being transported to the Capitol as we speak. So here are the terms: you present yourself at the main square of District 12 at noon two days from now…or your mother will die. Do you really want to be the person responsible for her death?"

The broadcast ended with that, and Sawyer slowly lowered the Cinna's Zeta device that he had been using to record the showing. At this point, his training kicked in.

His strict training enabled him to shut off his emotions temporarily, and allowed him to only think of his duty.

Ritchell needed to see this.

~/~/~/~/

Back inside Ritchell's modest hut, Prim, Gale, Asher, and his father were again seated around the cramped table. Only this time, Prim was rather tense. Because she found herself squeezed next to Asher's lean form. As their bodies brushed briefly, Asher glanced at her and gave her a small smile.

Prim's stomach fluttered briefly, but then she quickly clamped down on the butterfly feeling. _No distractions._

And then ending the brief interaction, Ritchell began to speak, laying out the necessary details of the rebellion to come. "Now before the Zenalians arrive…we must take care of things in our own country of Panem. You do understand that while the Districts are willing to rebel, they are just talking right now. They have not made any moves just yet. We need a defined call to action in order to really get the uprising going."

"And what will this call to action be?" questioned Gale.

Ritchell responded by calling to a person waiting outside the hut. "Celeste, come here!"

In entered the very same striking girl that had given Gale a brief smile earlier. She turned that same smile towards him again, as Ritchell continued to speak. "This is Celeste. She is a proficient warrior, but more importantly, she is a skilled orator. In order to get the Districts of Panem fired up and motivated, she will give a rousing speech to address them all at once. It'll work spectacularly!"

Despite Ritchell's grand words, Prim had certain doubts about this idea. "And just where will she be giving this 'rousing speech', Ritchell?"

A brief shadow flickered across Ritchell's face. "District 2."

An expression of shock came across the expressions of both Prim and Gale. Both of them had too many unpleasant memoires of certain tributes hailing from that particular District. "Why District 2, of all places?" asked Prim.

Ritchell picked up on the negative feeling at the table right away. "Because District 2 is the one District that is not favorably opposed to the rebellion. In fact, they're thinking about joining the Capitol. If this uprising is going to succeed, we need all the help we can get. And we especially need District 2, because District 2 is full of skilled fighters and warriors. If we speak to them in person, hopefully they will come over to our camp."

Celeste spoke for the first time. "And besides, they'll listen to me."

"What makes you so sure?"asked Gale in disbelief.

Celeste shrugged in nonchalance. "Because I'm from there."

~/~/~/~/~/

Gale immediately banished all possible feelings towards Celeste that might have been stirring in his mind. _I could never feel that way towards her. Because of Katniss, and because of where she comes from. Prejudiced as it may be, that's just the way it is. _

Because District 2 brought back too many bad memories. Of Clove, who had very nearly killed Katniss. Of Cato, who had also come very close to killing Katniss.

And Cato's brother, Castor, who actually _had_ killed Katniss.

And then the killer of Castor tried to force some professionalism free of bias into her tone. "So…while Celeste here goes to her home District to try and convince them to join us, what are the rest of us going to do?"

Before Ritchell could answer, his Zeta communication device began to beep, signaling an incoming visual message. As Ritchell took out his Zeta, he saw that the message was a recording of Sawyer Thistlewine pointing to a television in the background and saying grimly, "Boss. I think you should look at this."

~/~/~/~/

That night, Sawyer woke abruptly from his uneasy slumber by the sound of Cinna coming into his lavish room at a sprint. As Cinna quickly closed and locked the door behind him, Sawyer sat up in puzzlement and asked him, "Cinna, what's going on?"

"Get under the bed!" replied Cinna frantically. As he took in Sawyer's confused look, his voice rose into harsh overtones. "Do it! Now!"

Sawyer complied, swinging himself under the king-size bed, lying on his stomach facing the doorway. And that was when he saw the heavy wooden door burst open.

From the floor, Sawyer saw four pairs of matte-black booted feet enter the bedroom, he heard the sharp noise of a hard cuff, and then he saw Cinna's suddenly bloody face appear at ground level as Cinna hit the floor. Through the fresh red blood, Cinna's pleading eyes silently implored Sawyer to keep quiet.

Sawyer didn't dare to breathe. _If they find out I'm here…the same will happen to me_.

As Cinna's bloody, barely conscious body was dragged out of Sawyer's bedroom; Sawyer heard one of the attackers say roughly, "That's what you get for going against the Capitol, pretty boy. I bet you wish you hadn't gotten mixed up with those rebels now, don't you?"

Sawyer didn't hear Cinna's response. If he even gave one. Sawyer was too busy swinging himself out of the large window in his bedroom. Still dressed in his nightclothes, Sawyer landed hard in the bushes just outside the window. Ignoring the pain of the impact, the pain of the sharp branches that had cushioned his fall somewhat, he listened intently for any sign that his escape had been noticed.

No sign. As far as he could tell, Sawyer was in the clear. He took out the Zeta that he had secretly stolen from Cinna before he had gone to sleep. He had intended to use it for fun. Now, he was obligated to use it for his duty. And his duty was to send two equally disheartening messages.

Ritchell had to know.

~/~/~/~/~/

At the end of the first recorded video message that showed Peeta mercilessly beating Odona in a cell, Prim could barely bring herself to voice the impossible words. "They have my mother!"

Ritchell sighed sadly. "I know."

Then he frowned as the sound of another incoming message on the Zeta rang out. Reading the text message quickly, he added grimly, "And your uncle."

Prim's brow furrowed in confusion, her concern and worry partially put on hold. "My uncle? I don't have an uncle."

"Yes, you do," replied Ritchell. "You didn't know?"

Prim just shook her head.

"Your uncle is the District 12 stylist. Cinna."

**Please, please review! They make my day!**

**I apologize for the chapter; I was rushed writing it, and it's really mainly a filler chapter. It'll get better, I swear.**


	4. Preparations

**Thanks all for reviewing chapter 3, here's the next chapter!**

**Any viewers of the TV show LOST out there? If so, please check out my fanfic for LOST, titled The Call Of Destiny.**

**Disclaimer: You know it.**

"My uncle is Cinna?" exclaimed Prim in utter disbelief.

Everyone else at the small council of war; Gale, Celeste, and Asher looked every bit as surprised as Prim did.

Ritchell nodded. "Yes, on your father's side."

That brought up many conflicting thoughts for Prim. On one hand, it did actually make sense and would fill a lot of outstanding holes. It would definitly explain why Cinna requested District 12 in his first year as a Hunger Games stylist. It was because…a niece of his was a tribute.

"How does that come to be?" asked Prim.

Ritchell shook his head to dissuade her. "It's a long story, and time is short. You shall learn this knowledge at the proper time, and that time is not now. We must deal with the tragic news that your mother and Cinna are both prisoners."

"Do you think they're being kept together?"questioned Gale.

"If I had to guess, I'd say so, yes," replied Ritchell. "It makes sense to do so from a logistics standpoint. And besides, the Capitol is naturally arrogant; they'd feel that there's no need to separate the two."

"Well, then what the hell are we doing just sitting here talking about it?" burst out Gale. "We have to get a move on! We have to go rescue them!"

"Yes, they must be rescued," agreed Ritchell. "Just not by you. We have perfectly trained-"

"No way," interrupted Gale. "I don't give a damn about your 'trained soldiers'. Whatever you say, I'm going on this mission."

Ritchell looked at Gale appraisingly, noting his muscles, his athletic form. "Fine. I suppose you have to have some fighting ability if you survived the Hunger Games."

Just then, Haymitch Abernathy stumbled into Ritchell's moderate dwelling and collapsed into a seat around the table, clearly very drunk. "I miss anything?" he slurred.

Ignoring this latest spectacular entry of Haymitch's, Prim interjected, "And I'm coming too."

Before Ritchell could even offer words of protest, Prim continued, "You don't understand something. _That's my mother. That's the person who brought me into this world. _Do you honestly expect to sit idly by while my friends risk their lives for _my own_ flesh and blood? No way. Besides, I survived the Hunger Games too. I'm definitely coming."

Nobody in the room was too insensitive as to point out that Prim's survival in the Games was due more to the actions of others, rather than due to her own skill.

But Prim herself remembered the white-hot rage that had overtaken her when she had seen Katniss go down. She remembered the overpowering sensation of raw fury that had invigorated her into making her first kill.

She remembered, and that's how she could tell that the emotion coursing through her right now was different. In contrast to that feeling of red-hot rage, Prim's emotions now were ice-cold, like a glacier in the dead of winter. A part of her had simply shut down at the news of the dual capture. She would do whatever what was required in order to get her family back.

_She would do anything._

~/~/~/~/

As the first rays of sunlight began to filter in through the stained-glass window in his plush, sky-blue colored bedroom, Caesar Flickerman slowly got up, yawning all the while. This feeling of tiredness was simply due to the fact that he had not been sleeping well as of late. He put it down to the new business about the stress induced by the rebellion, the hunt for Primrose Everdeen, the capture of her mother, and so on. Yes, that's all it was.

But actually, Caesar knew the feeling of insomnia quite well. Because this feeling plagued his nights every evening during the Hunger Games season.

Because Caesar was not the average Capitol citizen. He _cared_ for the tributes that were forcibly thrust into the Games against their will. He wanted them all to succeed, them all to survive. But of course, that was not possible.

But Caesar tried to do his part. That was why every year; he did his best to make sure the tributes were seen in a favorable light before the Games. He did his best to lessen the horrible pain of the knowledge of certain death. He tried to help them all, but it was only in vain. And every year, when twenty-three of them died, Caesar was heartbroken.

Caesar rose from the king-size bed, and dressed conservatively in a medium black tunic. Heading into his kitchen, he popped a few waffles into the instant oven-toaster. Within ten seconds, they were ready to be eaten.

Caesar then headed into his living room, sat down, and flicked on the digital TV with the touch of a button. But before Caesar could lay a utensil on the steaming plate of beckoning food, he heard a pounding at the door.

_Who could that be at this early hour? This better be good…_

As Caesar swung open the door rather slowly, he saw that standing before him was simply a teen. A teen with brown hair, brown eyes, medium height. Just a normal teen.

But then Caesar saw something quite different about this teen. This teen had the exact same gleam in his soft chocolate eyes that Caesar had seen all too often in the eyes of the tributes he had interviewed. The look of raw fear. The sign of barely-concealed desperation.

And so without thinking, Caesar blurted out, "Can I help you?"

Sawyer Thistlewine smiled in pure relief. "Yes. You can."

He then collapsed into Caesar arms.

~/~/~/~/

"Say that again?" asked Commander Bemus of his superior officer.

Peeta Mellark smiled. Sitting at his comfortable Capitol desk in his spacious office, he told the image being projected before him, "It's simple. I've got Primrose figured out. She is not going to come to the District 12 square for the appointed rendezvous. Knowing her and her rash history of decision-making, she will do the radical thing: attempt to rescue her mother."

"Excuse me for saying so sir, but I believe that to be preposterous. She's only thirteen years old!"

"Yes, and I've known her for all thirteen years. I know how she thinks. Besides, my personal informant has already confirmed this theory of mine. Now, we just have to devise a plan for her arrival."

"But what if you're wrong?" questioned Commander Bemus.

Peeta sighed in aggravation. Bemus was really getting on his nerves lately. Questioning his orders and thoughts. He was becoming more of a liability. More of a loose end.

And loose ends deserved to be cut. They needed to be severed, before they could weaken the rest of the fully-functioning structure.

So if Bemus continued to be a nuisance…he would be liquidated.

"If I'm wrong," Peeta replied impatiently. "Then you and Commodore Adarsh will be at the District 12 square as planned, just as an eventuality. But I'm not wrong, Commander. Primrose will not be going to District 12. She will definitely be traveling to the Capitol."

"And what shall you do when she does arrive at the Capitol?" asked Commander Bemus, playing along with his superior. He already knew the answer to his own question.

Peeta grinned with anticipation. "Send her where Katniss is waiting."

~/~/~/~/

"Fine, Prim and Gale are coming on the mission," stated Ritchell grudgingly. He turned to Haymitch, who was now bobbing his head uncontrollably, staring at the wall. "I suppose you want to make it a party of three?"

"Hell, man, do you gotta ask? Can't be the only Hunger Games victor here not going, now can I?" exclaimed Haymitch.

"Then it's time for you three 'commandos' to meet the fourth member of your team. Lerasi!"

A young woman, slightly younger than Gale, entered the house. She had long, flowing red hair, and deep ocean-like blue eyes. As she walked in to stand beside the people clustered around the central table, she gave everyone in the room a slight smile of kindness.

Haymitch didn't return the small feeling of kindness. "Is she coming? Hell, she looks as if she couldn't hurt…"

"Lerasi is our most proficient technological expert," responded Ritchell with a touch of annoyance. "She hails from District 3, the leading District in electronics."

"That will be useful for your mission," interjected Celeste. From the way everyone looked at her, it seemed that they had forgotten she was even there. "She has the know-how to bypass security systems and such, which will prove very useful. Needless to say."

Asher stood up from his chair. "I'm coming too."

Haymitch snickered. "Good one, kiddo."

"No, I mean it. I want to help," Asher said earnestly.

Ritchell came over to his adopted son and put a hand on his shoulder. "We know, son, but you have to use your brain. You have no combat training whatsoever. All you'd be is a liability on the mission. It's far too dangerous for you to go. You can help in other ways, here at District 13. Right?"

Asher's brown eyes were cast downwards, avoiding any eye contact with anyone in the room. "Fine," he muttered.

"So Haymitch, Gale, Prim, and Lerasi will make the journey to the Capitol for the extract of the prisoners, that's settled," remarked Ritchell.

Celeste nodded. "And while they do that, I will complete my task that you have assigned me." Celeste was of course, referring to her recruiting speech she was scheduled to give at District 2, her home District.

"Yes," Ritchell affirmed. Then another thought struck him. "Take Madge Undersee with you. As a Mayor's daughter, she may help your case in some way."

"Ok," agreed Celeste.

"We finally all settled?" This of course, coming from Haymitch. "Then let's get a move on!"

"Now that we've got everything figured out, how are we going to get to the Capitol?" logically asked Gale.

"Using Zenalian tech. They've developed a special fighter-jet that is capable of reaching up to 500 miles an hour, and with the same type of chip as in the Zeta device, you will remain undetected by the Capitol's scanning systems," replied Ritchell.

"Um…Ritchell…none of us can pilot a plane," said Prim in typical teenage fashion.

"Which is precisely why a Zenalian will be piloting the aircraft," said Ritchell

~/~/~/~/

"You're telling me you're an agent of the rebellion?" exclaimed Caesar Flickerman.

Sawyer nodded. "Yes, I am."

After collapsing from sheer exhaustion, sleep deprivation, and near-starvation, Sawyer was now feeling much better. Propped up on one of Caesar's many couches in the salon, he was casually sipping a cup of tea and munching on a ham sandwich as he conversed with Caesar.

"Why have you come here? Why have you put me in danger?" asked Caesar frantically.

"Calm down, buddy," cautioned Sawyer. "If it's a problem with you, I'll leave right now. But frankly, I have no other place to go. And I only came here because Cinna had mentioned in passing that you were against the entire process of the Hunger Games. So I thought you had to be a pretty nice guy, and I thought maybe you could help me out."

Standing up, and heading towards the front door, Sawyer threw a last, parting shot over his shoulder, "Obviously, I was wrong."

"No…wait!" The words burst out of Caesar's mouth before he even realized what he was saying.

Sawyer turned around for an instant. "Yes?"

Caesar sighed. He didn't really have an option, in the end. "You can stay."

And so Caesar made a choice. He chose to ally himself with the rebellion. He knew full well that that was no turning back now. He had made his decision to give refuge to a total stranger who was an important member of the rebellion. The cold-blooded murderer of a respected colleague of his. And now he had to live with the consequences.

And if he was ever discovered to be harboring a highly sought-after fugitive, the consequences would most certainly be death.

~/~/~/~/

"This is it," announced Ritchell.

The party of Ritchell, Prim, Gale, Haymitch, and Lerasi stopped in the middle of a clearing in the forest. Only the difference was, this clearing had no trees above it, offering the group a clear view of the cloudless blue sky on the sunny, bright day.

And resting in the middle of the clearing was a sleek, silver, fighter plane.

From what Lerasi's experienced technical eye could see, it housed twin ion engines, heat-seeking missile armaments, and other advanced programs. Put simply, this plane was a prime example of how far humankind has advanced.

And then from the cockpit that hissed open, the pilot of the craft swung himself down. And so Lerasi got her first look at a Zenalian.

He looked to be about in his early twenties, rather short and skinny. His short black hair, dark brown eyes, and sharp gray military uniform put the exclamation point on his already weathered face that had seen too much in his short time in the world. As he landed skillfully on the ground, he walked over to the approaching group and boldly said, "Hello there. My name is Colonel Thrysa, Fourth Airborne Division, Zenalian Expansionary Defense Fleet."

Then his face softened briefly, and he continued, "But you can just call me Jack."

As introductions were made all around, Lerasi could not help but feel amazed. As silly as it sounds, she had always thought of foreigners as aliens having two heads and green skin. That's how isolated the people of Panem were.

_But it's time to change that, _she told herself.

Lerasi had never had her life in danger before. She had always been a technological wizard back in District 3, working behind the scenes on projects, subtly inserting the proper mechanisms to keep things running smoothly.

But Lerasi had joined the rebellion voluntarily because she wanted to step out from being overlooked all the time. She had absolutely hated being simply part of the scenery. She had volunteered because she wanted to make a difference in Panem. To make her name known to a vast multitude of people, not just a select few.

_And this is your chance. _

But in order for her wish to be fulfilled, this mission had to succeed. And so Lerasi would do her very best to ensure that it would.

Ritchell set down the black army-style tote bag he had been lugging around since they left his house. Opening the bag, he said, "Here, you five. Inside this bag are your supplies for the mission."

Inside the bag were five sets of CK-98 automatic submachine guns, compact black body armor, and dark-colored jumpsuits.

Gale wrinkled his nose at the contents of the bag. "You know, that's not really my style. You got a bow and some arrows around here?"

Ritchell sighed. "Yes, but you would be wise to use the weapons you see here. The forces of the Capitol will be using guns. Why should you put yourself at a disadvantage by wielding the most primitive of weapons?"

"I've never picked up a gun in my life," retorted Gale. "But on the other hand, I've shot a bow and arrow many times in my life. So I'm more skilled with that weapon. If I used a gun, I would actually be hurting myself on this mission. So bring me the bow and some arrows. Please."

"Fine," conceded Ritchell grudgingly. He turned to Haymitch. "Have you shot a gun before?"

Haymitch nodded briefly. "A few times. I would shoot at a target sometimes in my house up in the Victor's Village. But I'm not too great of a shot."

"Good enough," said Ritchell. "I know Jack and Lerasi here are skilled with these weapons. Prim? What about you?"

While Ritchell had called her skilled, Lerasi knew that he was simply exaggerating her skills. While she had taken the mandatory gun certification course as a part of her training at District 13, she didn't feel she had progressed far enough in order to call herself 'skilled'. Maybe just adequate.

But for this mission, adequate would just have to do.

"I've never seen a gun before in my life," replied Prim. "I wouldn't know the first thing to do with one."

Ritchell exhaled slowly in disapproval. "Fine. Gale, you'll just take a bow and some arrows, while Prim will be equipped with knives. All I can say is, you two better stay behind your fellow three team members at all times."

"Right," stated Gale sarcastically.

With that matter taken care of, Ritchell turned to Jack. "What news from the Zenalian federal government?"

It seemed that Ritchell was able to speak to Jack so casually because he was the only rebellion member to have ever had contact with a Zenalian before. Or that was how Lerasi had learned it.

"The armed forces are being mobilized as we speak," reported Jack crisply. "The beachhead landing of Zenalian forces on the western flank of the Capitol should occur sometime within the next week or so."

"Excellent," remarked Ritchell. He then directed his serious gaze solely at Jack, tuning out all distractions. "Now, Colonel Thrysa, are you sure you want to participate actively in this mission? You are certainly entitled, no _encouraged _to leave the area after dropping off these four at the Capitol."

"I'm positive," affirmed Jack. His brown hazel eyes found the bright blue of Prim's eyes. "Being separated from one's mother is just about the worst feeling in the world. I can't sit idly by while that happens to a human being. Especially one on whose hopes the rebellion rests so much."

"But if you were to…not come back from this mission, the relations between the fledging rebellion and Zenal would be greatly strained," pointed out Ritchell. "I trust that you will take good care of yourself then?"

Jack laughed in false mirth. "You think I _want _to die? Of course I'll take care of myself. Count on it."

And with that, Ritchell regarded all five members of the team with grave eyes. "Well, then. I have a District and a rebellion to run. My last advice to all of you: come back. Don't take any foolish risks. Just _survive_."

All five nodded grimly.

Ritchell began to walk away briskly, carrying the two guns that were unwanted by Prim and Gale. Throwing some last words over his shoulder, he said half seriously, half jokingly, "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

~/~/~/~/

"Are you sure you know how to drive one of these things?" asked Celeste of Madge.

They were both sitting in the two front seats of the very same hoverbike that had brought Madge to District 13, with Madge being behind the wheel. The idling engine hummed gently as they waited for Ritchell to come and give them last minute instructions. But Madge was making Celeste a bit nervous because of the way Madge casually slouched behind the wheel, staring out into the distant trees not bothering to check any gauges on the dashboard.

"I'm sure," replied Madge. She defiantly slouched even further in her uncomfortable seat. "After all, I got us here, didn't I?"

Celeste didn't respond to this impertinent statement of Madge's. Instead, she chose another tack to pursue. "So…your friend, huh? What's his name again? Gale? He have a girlfriend or what?"

Madge abruptly whipped around so fast that Celeste thought her head was going to snap off. "Gale loved Katniss more than anything in the world," hissed Madge, her eyes suddenly flaming. "How dare you even joke about her memory in that way!"

"Chill, all right? I'm sorry. I didn't know they were that close," indignantly responded Celeste.

Madge turned back around in disgust. "Why did you even volunteer for this rebellion in the first place?"

That was a good question. Celeste had volunteered because she knew firsthand the kind of devastation that the Hunger Games could cause.

In this regard, she was in the minority of District 2. While most took pride in the process of the Hunger Games, Celeste was revolted by it. This was why she had resisted her father's attempts to volunteer for the Games. She had trained as much as she could, gotten very knowledgeable about weapons and survival, and molded her body into the best athletic shape possible.

But when it came down to it, she had simply not volunteered for the Games. This was because she was simply disgusted that the Capitol could so casually and cruelly kill twenty-three small children each year.

These children would have no future. They would never happily laugh again. They would never cry out in carefree, blissful joy again. They would never worry about a trivial bad grade in school again, or share a peaceful moment with their loved ones again. From the moment their name was called out at their Reaping, they simply ceased to exist. Their life just stopped.

And Celeste was opposed to that. Very much so opposed. And so this was why she had never entered the Hunger Games.

"Why did I volunteer for the rebellion?"

"_You're just a damn, spineless coward!" shouted Celeste's father._

_They were standing angrily in a faceoff, each face only inches from the other, both beet-red with fury. They had been arguing for hours. And a resolution seemed nowhere at hand._

"_You want me to end up like them? You want me to be out of this world forever?" retorted Celeste hotly._

"_I just don't understand how this family could produce such a sniveling, fearful, pitiful excuse for a child. I just don't get it," said her father, his voice making the transformation from white-hot rage to ice-cold precision. "I don't know my only daughter anymore."_

_Celeste just regarded her father sadly with her bright violet eyes. "I __never__ knew my father," she said in a melancholy tone._

"I volunteered because I knew it was the right thing to do. And maybe also because I had no other choice."

_The freezing rain was coming down in interminable sheets. As Celeste walked on the desolate streets of District 2, she wrapped her flimsy white sweater closer around her. It didn't help at all. She was still shivering from the numbing cold._

_After what seemed like an eternity, Celeste finally reached her destination: the home of her dear mentor. _

_She knocked quickly three times on the door, wishing for Soren to answer quickly. She didn't think she could last out in the freezing gale much longer._

_And she got her wish, as a man in his fifties, balding, and rather portly opened the door to see Celeste standing there, shivering profusely. "Celeste? What are you doing out at this hour? Come on in," said Soren worriedly._

_Celeste took slow, stumbling steps inside the foyer, shook her wet, black hair out of her eyes, and immediately plopped down in an armchair beside a synthetic, crackling fire in the den. As Soren returned from the kitchen to hand her a soft, dry comforter and a steaming bowl of fresh soup, he asked her, "Celeste, dear? What are you doing here?"_

_Celeste took a first, tentative sip of soup, and wrapped the blanket closely around herself. "I came because…I needed to talk. You know how awful things are at home. Anything I say either goes punished or ignored."_

"_I do know how it is," agreed Soren. He took a chair opposite from her. "And I assume that you need to talk about the Hunger Games. Am I right?"_

_And then with that statement, the emotional dam that had been building inside of Celeste gave way. "Yes! It's just…it's just; I don't know how to feel. I mean, at times I absolutely hated him. He could be so horrid to me, it would be too painful to even describe."_

_And then Celeste's face softened as she remembered memories of a more pleasant note. "But other times…other times he could be almost…nice. He would ruffle my hair, or give me an encouraging word here and there. These things were like the ultimate signs of affection from him."_

_And then Celeste's face took a harder line as reality hit her. "But it doesn't matter now. He's gone. And nothing is going to bring him back. And the awful part is, I don't think I'm all that heart-broken about it."_

"_So what do you want to do?" asked Soren kindly. This was a familiar role for him. As a close family friend, he had acted as a surrogate parent. As the father Celeste had never known._

_Celeste sighed. "I don't know…I just need to get away. Away from the District altogether. I've never been happy here. I'm not like the just of the people here, all blood-thirsty and misguided. I need time to clear my head."_

"_Then I have another question to ask you, Celeste," said Soren. He leaned closer to Celeste, and whispered conspiratorially, "Are you against the Capitol, dear?"_

_Even though they were alone in the house, it was no wonder Soren had whispered. Heard by the wrong ears, that question would be punishable by death._

_But regardless of the penalties of the question, it did require an answer._

_And in Celeste's eyes, the Capitol was the creator of the Hunger Games. And because of the way Celeste detested the Games, the answer was a no-brainer._

"_Yes," she replied strongly._

_Soren withdrew slightly. "Then I have a proposition for you. I myself am a recruiter for an organization that is opposed to the Capitol's rule. If you like, I can arrange for your passage to this organization. You can leave District 2. Tonight. What do you think?"_

_Celeste inhaled sharply. Soren was asking if she wanted to give up everything she had ever known. To leave it all behind. To end life as she knew it._

_But as she reflected some more, she realized, what life? What life had she experienced in District 2? A meaningless, empty life filled with constant abuse. And what kind of life was that?_

_No life at all._

"_I'll do it," answered Celeste._

Celeste jerked herself back to the here and now. It was no use dwelling on the past. She couldn't change that. She could only make a difference in the future to come.

And Celeste was sparred any more scalding remarks from Madge by the sounding of rustling bushes to her left. Unconsciously, Celeste's hand strayed towards the sharp dagger she always wore at her belt. Hard habits died hard.

But she relaxed when she saw that it was only Ritchell.

Ritchell walked up to the idling hoverbike and addressed both passengers. "OK, then. All set to go?"

Both muttered assent.

Ritchell took out the two CK submachine guns that had been refused by Prim and Gale. "Then you two take these. If things get…out of hand in District 2, you may need to defend yourself. You're sure you won't need a backup team?"

Celeste shook her head. "No, a move that overt might be taken as a threat. Having armed men in the background only serves to increase a person's anxiety. It's best if only the two of us go."

"Right, then. You know what you have to do, right? Once you arrive, request an audience with the mayor. Ask permission to address the entirety of District 2, and once you are doing so, you know your goal. Make the people sympathetic to our ideals. Make them against the Capitol. Cause the flame of rebellion to stir inside of them. This speech will be shown to the other Districts of Panem, so don't screw up. Got it?"

"Got it," replied Celeste. Ritchell made it all sound so simple.

But Celeste was positive that her mission would turn out to be anything but.

~/~/~/~/

"We ready to go?" asked Gale.

Jack Thrysa nodded. "Yes. We'll load the mission supplies in the cargo hold beneath the plane, and then take off right away. Your bow and arrows, and spare knives are loaded already."

On the underbelly of the sleek jet, there was a small keypad of numbers, arranged in the standard layout. Jack punched in a code, and a panel slid open almost immediately. Jack then hoisted the bag full of equipment inside, and then turned to Lerasi.

"Your technical gear is already inside as well. You can familiarize yourself with the tools upon arrival."

Jack was of course, referring to the various gadgets and gizmos that would be required in order to cheat the Capitol's security systems. And because these instruments were of Zenalian-make, Lerasi was sure that they would be of the utmost quality.

"Sure," she replied.

And with that, all five members of the strike team boarded the plane.

~/~/~/~/

As the plane's engines were being prepped for takeoff in the middle of the deserted clearing, a small figure crept from the surrounding bushes and stood in front of the cargo hold.

This person entered the same code that he had seen Jack enter scarcely five minutes ago. When the panel slid open yet again, the figure entered the hold, closed the door behind him, and lay down in the most comfortable position possible in the cramped hold.

Reclining on his back, the person smiled in satisfaction to himself. _This is for Rue._

Asher was on his way to the Capitol.

**OK, so maybe the last chapter was not a filler chapter, but this one definitly was. **

**I apologize, but please don't stop reading. The next chapter will be full of action. You know why? It's the mission...**


	5. The Mission

**Jane- thanks for the two reviews; this chapter has alot more action in it.**

**I'm updating this story before any of my others because I'm getting the feeling that people are losing interest in this story. I've been getting less and less reviews each chapter, and just want to say, please review if you are reading this chapter! It does not take very long, and really makes me feel better about my writing.**

**So, here we go! Please read and review!**

**Disclaimer: Pancakes!**

Checking the monitors located on the dashboard of the Zenalian fighter jet, Zenalian military man Jack Thyrsa sighed in restlessness. They still had a ways to go before they reached their objective: the Capitol.

The other four occupants of the plane were asleep at the moment, resting up for the daunting task ahead. However, Jack couldn't take that luxury. His duty was to keep the jet running.

Even though the autopilot was engaged, he was still required to perform routine scans and checks on instruments such as the fuel gauge, or the altimeter. Better safe than sorry, he reasoned.

He glanced at the monitor that showed the plane's ETA. Jack exhaled yet again. Six hours to go.

~/~/~/~/

"Tell me again why we couldn't have taken a plane?" asked Madge of Celeste.

"Because Zenal only provided one for the rebellion's use at the moment, and the strike team's mission takes priority over our own," answered Celeste.

"Yeah but…driving this thing is annoying! And it goes so slow! Honestly, is the rebellion that underfunded?"

Celeste adjusted her seating in the hoverbike as the trees of the forest continued to whip past. "What do you think? We have few modern weapons to begin with. Those few that we do have all come from Zenal. And plus, our total members consist of maybe .1% of the overall population of Panem. You think everybody is stinking rich like you?"

Madge then realized how callous and shallow she had been acting. "Celeste, I'm sorry. I was out of line. It's just…for the first time in my life; I'm doing something I'm never done before. That I'd never thought I'd do. I'm going against the lawful government of Panem willingly, risking my own life for the sake of others. I guess I'm just not cut out for this rebellion business."

Celeste touched Madge's shoulder briefly. "It's fine. I guess you're in the overwhelming majority of Panem, then. Your fear is nothing to be ashamed of at all."

"Thanks," said Madge. She cut the speed of the bike ever so slightly so as to be able to gather her thoughts. "But what about you? Why aren't you afraid?"

Celeste sighed, and for the first time, Madge saw the stirrings of raw pain in her eyes. "It's different for me. I know that you grew up as a pampered Mayor's daughter. My mother died in childbirth. And because of that, my father detested me, even to this day. He thinks that because of me, his wife is dead. That I killed her."

Now it was Madge's turn to feel sadness for another. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault," replied Celeste in a faraway tone.

Celeste continued, "So with my mother gone, I grew up as the only daughter of a Hunger Games victor, with two brothers that wanted so badly to follow in their father's footsteps. I didn't have the ornamented golden pin, nor the long flowing dress made of silky lace like you. No, I had the daily sparring sessions with one of my brothers who only viewed me as a practice dummy, an obstacle, someone who was only there for further _their_ ends."

Trying to ease the painful memories that were seemingly flooding back to Celeste, Madge interjected, "Celeste, listen. The past is the past. It's done with."

Celeste nodded. "I know that. But can you imagine the constant pain that I went through on a daily basis, both physical and emotional? Can you imagine how growing up in such a bloodthirsty and hostile environment has affected me to this day? Yes, I developed the skill to fight. But at what cost?"

Trying to sympathize, Madge said kindly, "I understand."

Celeste just shook her head. "Do you? Do you really?"

~/~/~/~/

_I could be dead before the day is over._

This thought would not stop repeating itself in Prim's head as she tried without success to fall asleep.

Her inability to do so was certainly not because of the sleeping conditions. The Zenalian jet was home to two leather couches set in the middle of the lounge area, which was directly in the center of the plane. Also in the lounge were a series of cabinets along the wall which housed food and water supplies, and a small bar-table set in the center of it all. Clear windows on the plane walls provided a beautiful outlook on the passing world below.

Prim and Lerasi were currently situated in the two plush couches, because Gale had gallantly volunteered himself and Haymitch for the floor. Well, Haymitch hadn't been so keen on the idea. But Gale had been adamant.

And as Prim's restlessness grew, she became aware that everyone else was sleeping quietly. Clearly they had no outstanding reservations about the coming mission.

And then a loud snore sounded from Haymitch's corner. So maybe everyone wasn't resting in total silence.

But Prim was almost positive she wasn't going to get to sleep at all. Because being thrust into a life-or-death situation was just something she wasn't cut out for. She shuddered as she remembered the Seventy Fifth Hunger Games. Look how that turned out.

_Then why did I volunteer?_

When she had, her decision certainly had not come from the brain. No logical reasoning had made her voice her will to participate in the rescue.

Her choice had been made from the heart. And that was made all the difference.

~/~/~/~/

Gale woke slowly from his slumber, yawning all the while. That was when he noticed the absence of a critical sound: the jet's engines.

The constant humming that had been in the background throughout the entire flight was now missing. Which could only mean one thing.

They had arrived at the Capitol.

Jack Thyrsa appeared at the entrance to the lounge area where the other fire members of the strike team were now stirring slowly. It even looked like Prim had gotten to sleep eventually, for she was rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Get up, you four," said Jack as he looked down upon them. "We're here."

And complying with his order, Prim, Gale, Lerasi, and Haymitch swung themselves onto their feet. No words were uttered at Jack's statement. They were all intently focused on their objective for any unorthodox displays of emotion to occur.

Jack lowered the gangway, and the five dismounted from the plane. As Gale's eyes squinted in the bright sunlight of early afternoon, he thought that he saw a rustling in the surrounding bushes a ways off.

_Probably just a fox or something_, he decided.

Haymitch looked around in confusion. "Where exactly are we?"

"We are now inside the mountain ring that encloses the Capitol," answered Jack.

"Then why do I see trees, plants, and bushes?" asked Prim.

"Because there is one layer of forest that also encloses the Capitol," said Lerasi. The three from District 12 regarded her curiously. "A large portion of the Capitol's food supply actually comes from this forest area. It provides many herbs, flowers, animal skin for clothing and food-"

"Okay sweetheart, we get the point," interjected Haymitch. He looked at Jack, while Lerasi sulked in silence. "Let's get this show on the road."

From there, the final preparations occurred rather quickly. Jack punched in the current combination for the supply hold, and the latch swung open immediately. Jack entered the hold, and removed the necessary items that had been supplied for the mission.

All five donned the dark jumpsuits than had been provided, and each of them ate a vast array of protein bars and electrolytic fluids in order to gain energy. They didn't know the next time they would be able to eat.

Then came the process of attaching the body armor to themselves. The armor was complete with an assortment of buckles and straps which proved more challenging for certain members of the team.

"Hey…Jack? How does this armor go on?" asked Prim.

Jack, who had had his armor on for about ten minutes now, answered, "The whole mess of buckles and straps go in the back, with the actual bullet-proof plating in the front."

"So the back is a weak spot?" asked Lerasi.

"Yes. So get shot in the front."

"I'd rather not get shot at all…" muttered Haymitch.

After much fussing and woe of frustration, the armor was finally attached to all five members of the team. With that done, the five then moved on to the weapons.

Gale picked up a medium-size bow and arrow set, with a quiver slung over his shoulder that housed thirty arrows. Rounding out the last of the unconventional weapons, Prim holstered a dual set of sharp, serrated knives.

Haymitch, Jack, and Lerasi then hefted the CK-98 submachine guns and holstered them at their sides. In addition, Jack hoisted a compact dark pack onto his person.

Jack then handed a small, black backpack to Lerasi. "Here," he said. "Your electronic supplies for the mission. They are top-notch quality. The very best of Zenal."

"I sure hope so," replied Lerasi. She swung the pack onto her shoulders. "We need all the help we can get."

With everyone equipped and ready, the five stood in a solemn circle for exactly one moment. No one said a word as each locked eyes with another. When a minute had passed, Jack broke the circle first, striding off into the trees. And one by one, the remainder followed.

And farther back at a good distance so as to remain undetected, so did Asher.

~/~/~/~/

In the Command Room of the Capitol Detention Center, General Peeta Mellark sat at a large desk which faced a bank of monitors. These monitors were directly connected to surveillance footage being taken at that very moment by cameras both inside and outside the facility. For the moment, all was well.

Peeta didn't think it was going to remain that way.

Now swiveling his chair to face the intercom system, he pushed down on a button. "Captain. Pull all but two sentries off of each entrance to the building. Send the extra men inside, and have them patrol A Wing. Copy?"

"Yessir," came a distorted voice. "May I ask why we would cripple our security in this manner?"

Peeta smiled. He might as well enlighten the man. After all, if he did say so himself, he had come up with quite the clever plan. "Because when Primrose Everdeen comes to rescue her mother, she must be lulled into a false sense of security. She will be allowed reach the cell where her mother is being held. At that point, the net around her will close, and she will be captured right alongside her intended target."

"Ahh," came the crisp voice. "Well done, sir."

Not bothering to respond, Peeta depressed another button on the intercom system. These intercoms could be used to address individual rooms of the Capitol Detention Center, or they could also broadcast to the entire building.

The CDC also consisted of four main sections: A Wing, B Wing, C Wing and D Wing. Currently, Cinna the stylist and Odona Everdeen were being held in D Wing.

But sooner or later, they wouldn't be a need for them to be held anymore. Soon, D Wing would be D as in Dead.

"Lieutenant, pull all of the men patrolling the corridors of D-Wing off of their jobs. Disperse them amongst B and C wings. D Wing is to be completely empty, save for the two sentries outside D Gate

"Why is that, sir?"

Peeta repeated the explanation that he had given earlier to the other military man. Satisfied with the response, the person on the other side of the line disconnected the communication.

Peeta Mellark reclined in his chair, and briefly closed his tired eyes for a moment. He had not a care in the world.

All was proceeding according to plan.

~/~/~/~/

Before long, the five members of the strike team came to a chain-link fence, one too high to leap over.

Prim circled it cautiously. "You think it's electrocuted?"

"The one in District 12 almost never is. I wonder if this one is the same?" questioned Gale aloud.

Lerasi bent down on a knee, and gazed intently at the fence. "There's no hum. No sparks are coming off. But still, I wouldn't trust it."

"Right then," declared Jack. He removed an object from his pack. He hadn't told anyone what was in there, but it seemed that they were about to find out. "Stand back."

All five retreated away from the fence, as Jack tossed a small green item directly at the fence. It came to rest lying in the ground directly before it. All Prim was aware of was the slight noise of a rapid, mechanical beeping and then-

BOOM.

A section of the fence exploded in a dazzling fiery inferno, leaving a clear gap in the middle. Everyone in the team gaped at Jack, who said, "Handy things grenades are, aren't they?"

"What the hell is a grenade?" asked Haymitch gruffly.

Jack pointed at the debris in front of them. "That."

And then moving quickly, the five slipped through the newly created opening in the fence.

"We are now officially within the borders of the Capitol," stated Jack.

Prim wasn't listening. She was glancing around with a panicked look. "You think anyone heard that?"

"No," said Jack. "We won't come to actual buildings for about another five minutes walk. I'm sure that our entrance went undetected."

Prim was still not reassured. "I don't even know where we're going! Where is my mother? My uncle?"

"They're being held in the Capitol Detention Center," answered Jack. "It is where all captives and criminals are kept in the Capitol. Once inside the CDC, Lerasi here can hopefully hack into the central system to find out specifically where inside they're being locked up."

Lerasi nodded. "Affirmative," she said.

"I picked the landing area nearest to the CDC, so we'd have the easiest journey on foot. This approach relies mainly on stealth. But if we encounter resistance…"

Here Jack trailed off. Then he looked at each member grimly. "Do not be afraid to use lethal force. Aim to kill."

Each member of the team, even Prim, acknowledged this with a determined look. And so they continued to move closer and closer to the Capitol proper.

After a short time, the Gale first became aware of a structure coming closer and closer. "What's that?"

Jack looked to what Gale was referring to. "That's the CDC. It's located on the outskirts of the Capitol so as to keep the 'riffraff' away from the pampered Capitol citizens," he said scornfully. "Thankfully, there's not another building for about a mile."

Where the five were located at this time was simply a barren dirt plain, one that offered absolutely no cover. Certainly not the ideal situation.

And in front of them was the Capitol Detention Center.

It was a behemoth of a building, a stone-gray windowless building, a dismal one that portrayed the image of being utterly devoid of hope. Of life.

And arranged like a square, another wall surrounded the compound. Compared to the chain-link fence surrounding the Capitol, this wall was a sharp black, and to all eyes, appeared thickly reinforced. Prim didn't think that another grenade would work this time.

And as a part of the wall, four steel gates surrounded the CDC, each arranged as to be on the opposite side from each other. They each offered a way inside of the facility. It all looked so primitive. So simple.

But Prim was sure that their mission would turn out to be harder than just waltzing right in, finding her family, and waltzing right back out. Her time might very well be up in the next hour.

_Steady_, she told herself. _You got through the Hunger Games. You can do this. You have to do this._

The group stopped about a half-acre away from one of the gates. Looking to her left, Prim could see another identical gate. It was the same to her right.

Only to the right, a long, cement road snaked away from the CDC off into the distance.

Prim voiced her thoughts. "That's the road to the Capitol, right? Where are all the vehicles? How do people get there?"

Haymitch pointed to a smaller building, one still enclosed within the square-like wall, but one significantly less ominous. "That's the CDC Motor Pool. You can find all sorts of vehicles there; hovercrafts, hoverbikes, cars, hell, even helicopters."

Gale turned to face Haymitch. "How do you know that?" he asked curiously.

Haymitch continued to stare straight ahead. "Kid, I've been coming to the Capitol for neigh of thirty years. I'd think after all that time; I'd know a little something about this city."

Lerasi wasn't paying attention to the little exchange. Kneeling down, she rooted through her pack that held technological gear until she found what she was looking for: a set of powerful binoculars.

She put the binoculars to her eyes, and fiddled with the unfamiliar Zenalian knobs until she found the appropriate setting. Peering towards the nearest gate, she reported what she saw to the others:

"There are two armed sentries on each side of the gate. A mounted wired camera is taking footage of the area surrounding the gate. An entrance keypad controls the gate, while an alarm alert is also posted. Needless to say, it'll be tough to gain access to the compound."

"So what's the plan?" asked Gale.

"We use a diversion, "said Jack with a knowing smile.

~/~/~/~/

Corporal Xadix paced slowly back and forth in front of D Gate. His machine rifle was folded across his stocky chest as he continued to move. Adjacent to him, his partner on the job was doing exactly the same.

The CDC was on a high state of alert. All security forces had been informed of the possibility of an impending raid. The alert status was at the highest it had ever been since the first rebellion, the one that had obliterated District 13.

Corporal Xadix chuckled to himself. It was all just so silly. So unnecessary. Who did they expect to turn up? Primrose Everdeen?

And then Xadix saw something that nearly made him drop his rifle.

Because racing towards him over the barren plain were two figures.

And yes, one of them was Primrose Everdeen.

And then Xadix's training took over. In a flash, Xadix raised his riffle and loaded it. The reassuring click of the ammunition sounded as he called to the approaching pair, "Stop! Or I'll shoot!"

Because Xadix's commanding officers had made it very clear that if Primrose were to die by a mere underling's hand, that underling would suffer the very same fate.

So Primrose had to be taken alive. At least for the moment.

As Prim and her partner came within range of Xadix's rifle, Xadix tried to place where he had seen the other commando's face before. It just wasn't as familiar as it should be.

Then it clicked. On national television. In the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games. Gale.

Prim and Gale came to an abrupt halt, each raising their hands in the air, Prim dropping her knives, Gale lowering his bow.

Xadix's partner, Kailo, laughed derisively. "So. The infamous Primrose Everdeen. Here, at the Capitol. How stupid are you, hmm?"

"A lot smarter than you," answered the one called Gale.

Kailo scowled. He raised his assault rifle to point it directly at Gale. "Brave words. Too bad you're about to die for them."

"Wait!" cried Xadix. He outstretched a hand to stop Kailo from firing his rifle. "We're supposed to take them alive!"

"We're supposed to take _her_ alive. Nobody said anything about Smart Mouth over here," said Kailo.

Xadix's lips curled upwards in a half-sneer, half-smile. "You're quite right. Carry on then."

Gale's eyes widened in fear. Xadix thought it was because he was about to die. But he was proved wrong when Gale began pointing to something far off in the distance, towards the compound.

Xadix and Kailo turned their backs for an instant to face the CDC. But an instant was all the time that was required.

Gunfire rang out, and Kailo went down next to Xadix with a bullet in his head. Spinning around and cursing at the realization that he'd been suckered, Xadix snapped off a quick shot with his rifle.

That was all he got, as he went down right next to Kailo, having been shot twice in the chest.

Prim averted her eyes from the two bodies. While she had survived the Hunger Games, she was still not totally comfortable with gruesome sights such as cadavers. Maybe a little bit of the old Prim, the innocent Prim remained after all.

Jack Thrysa lowered his still smoking gun, and turned to address the rest of the group, including Lerasi and Haymitch. Their improvised plan had worked to perfection. "Everyone all right?"

"No," snarled Haymitch. He peered down at the blood pooling out of his lower body. "That son of a bitch shot me in the leg."

"He needs medical attention," declared Gale. He turned to Jack. "Where's the first-aid kit?"

Jack looked sheepish. "Um…"

"You forgot the first-aid kit!" exclaimed Prim.

Haymitch grimaced as he forced himself into a standing position. He ripped a sleeve off of his jumpsuit and tied it tightly around his bleeding wound. "Good enough," he said. "I'll make it. I have to make it."

Gale looked over at Lerasi who was coiling some kind of yellow wire onto the camera mounted on the gate. "What are you doing?"

"Attaching a special jamming device," replied Lerasi. She finished coiling the electrical wire around the fiber-optic cable of the camera, and then flipped a switch that had been attached to the jamming wire. "There. Now all they'll see on their cameras is gray static."

"Good going, sweetheart," said Haymitch sarcastically. "Now let's get a move on before I bleed to death."

Lerasi took out another Zenalian device, which resembled a flashlight. She shined it on the keypad that controlled the opening and closing of the gate, and the rest of the group saw that a strange red light was being emitted. "The gate requires a four character password," she said. "This light shows which four have the most signs of wear and tear; which will be the ones for the code."

Peering down at the keypad being displayed under the light, Prim called out the most worn letters. "N, O, S, W."

"Wosn?" asked Gale.

"Nows?" asked Jack.

Haymitch shook his head. Limping over to the keypad, he typed in four letters. Slowly, the two halves of the gate grinded open. "Snow," said Haymitch.

"As in the fluffy, soft, white kind?" asked Prim.

"No. As in the evil, cruel, ruthless president of Panem."

"How vain," remarked Gale.

And the five continued on into the Capitol Detention Center proper.

~/~/~/~/

"So, uh, Caesar. You got any grub in this place?" asked Sawyer Thistlewine.

They were sitting on a couch, simply recuperating from recent events. In Sawyer's case, he had suffered through a long, cold, sleepless night with nothing to eat out on the streets of the Capitol. Which his stomach was painful reminding him of at this moment.

"That sandwich wasn't good enough for you?"

Sawyer just looked at him.

Caesar Flickerman shook his head in disbelief. "That sandwich was the last of the food. I was just about to go out and get some. Care to join me?"

"Sure thing," answered Sawyer. "Just let me go get one of your crazy wigs that you wear all the time for a disguise, and we'll leave."

"My wigs are not crazy!" exclaimed Cesar indignantly. "They're the latest fashion."

"Yeah…freaky fashion if you ask me," impertinently said Sawyer. He dashed into a closet nearby the front door. "One minute."

When Sawyer emerged, he was now sporting a short, white-colored wig, with polka dots of all the colors of the rainbow. "This one good?"

"It's ravishing," remarked Caesar.

Sawyer led the way out of the house, opening the door rather quickly. He swiped the keys from Caesar's susceptible hand, and hopped in the driver's seat of the hovercraft that was parked outside. "I'll drive."

~/~/~/~/

Back at D Gate, Corporal Xadix stirred feebly. As he slowly sat up, he realized how lucky it was that the intruders had shot him in the chest, rather than the head like Kailo. Thankfully, his body armor had absorbed the brunt of the bullets, making his pain similar to a punch rather than being pierced by a projectile.

As Xadix got to his feet, he noticed two things. The first was that his rifle was missing. The second was the wide-open gate. That could only mean one thing. The CDC had been infiltrated.

Wincing in pain as he moved, he stumbled the remaining distance to the gate, and pulled down hard on the emergency alarm lever.

~/~/~/~/

The five members of the team quickly crossed the short distance from the gate entrance to the larger building of the two enclosed, which was obviously the CDC proper, not the Motor Pool. The door directly in front of them was labeled D Wing Entrance. Set on this door was another keypad, the password yet again being Snow. At the typing of that word, the metal door swung open.

But as they were about to cross the threshold, Haymitch collapsed to the ground.

"Go," he said in obvious pain. His jumpsuit sleeve that was acting as a make-shift tourniquet around his leg was soaked through with blood, a good portion of which was dripping steadily onto the ground. "I'll just slow you down. Go ahead; I'll be following behind you."

"No," said Gale. He moved to hoist Haymitch up. "We don't leave people behind. It's all of us or none of us."

Haymitch thrust Gale away. "Kid, you don't know what you're talking about. The mission comes first. It'll be tough enough inside that place without me to slow you down. I would just be a burden. Just go. Now!"

Prim realized that Haymitch was right. They didn't need any hindrances to slow them up; their ordeal was tough enough as it was.

And so with a final look back at Haymitch, Jack led the other three into the belly of the monster that was the CDC.

And they found a strange sight. They were in a large, silver corridor. It had a sterile feel to it, mostly due to the absolute stillness in the air. In addition, not a soul was in sight.

And along the corridor were a series of door on both sides, spaced about five feet apart. The chilling realization hit Prim as she realized that these were where the prisoners were kept.

Gale broke the silence. "Why is there nobody around?"

"Are you complaining?" inquired Lerasi as she spotted an electrical plug set in a wall near ground-level.

"We need to find a data jack," said Jack. He was apparently unaware of the irony of what he had just said.

"Right here," Lerasi called as she reached the plug. She brandished a small Zeta multi-tool device, and used an extendable plug to insert the device into the data jack.

Immediately, the Zeta came alive. A status bar appeared on the small screen, the bar increasing as the screen displayed, "Acquiring Connection, please wait."

"For how long?" asked Prim.

A small beep sounded from the Zeta.

"That quick, huh?" remarked Gale.

Having successfully hacked into the CDC's security system, Lerasi's nimble fingers then expertly navigated the security readouts. "Here," she declared. "The prisoner listings and room assignments."

"Which room are my mother and uncle in?" asked Prim anxiously. Now that they were so close, her nervousness was only mounting. At the moment, she did not know the definition of calm.

"42D," answered Lerasi. "According to the diagram here, it should be…" She pointed down the corridor. "That way."

"What are we waiting for? Let's move!" exclaimed Gale.

And so the four moved stealthily down the corridor, trying to noiselessly use their feet. But as they neared the end of the corridor and turned the corner, they ran into an unwelcome surprise.

The guard that had been patrolling the area quickly stopped short in surprise. He raised his assault rifle in order to deal with the unexpected appearance of these four intruders. But that was as far as he got.

Because he crumpled to the ground almost immediately with an arrow lodged in his skull. Quick, and silent.

Gale quickly retrieved his arrow, and only got a nod of acknowledgment from Jack. Prim and Lerasi were too busy trying to avoid the lifeless body.

And then the alarm klaxons began blaring. Flashing red lights came alive in the corridor, rendering its silence now obsolete. A mechanical voice began to repeat the words, "Warning. The facility has been compromised. Warning. The facility has been compromised."

Prim began to lose it. "What do we do?" she asked in a mounting panic.

"We keep going," replied Jack in a steady voice. "We're almost there. We have about five minutes before any troops find us; just enough time. We must hurry."

The four continued to move on down the corridor, their eyes scanning the gray doors they were passing by. Prim counted silently in her head, "38D…40D…42D!" The last number was spoken aloud, an excited shout. She then promptly clapped her hands over her mouth.

The group stopped abruptly in one frozen moment, halting to see if their disturbance would go unnoticed. But with the alarms blaring, the mechanical voice sounded, it seemed that no passing guards had heard Prim's outburst.

Jack then noticed something amiss about this particular door. "There's no keypad. How do we get in?"

"I don't know…" Lerasi began.

Gale tried the door handle, and it opened a fraction. He stepped back in shock. "It's unlocked," he said wide-eyed.

Jack rapidly readied his gun. "That means-"

The door to 42D burst open, and suddenly the strike team had two heavy assault rifles being pointed at them. "Drop your weapons!" screamed a rough, military voice. Two heavyset guards came out of the cell, with the rifles raised.

And then they were followed by two other figures, both who were less burly. One of them shook his blond hair out of his eyes as he said camly, "You heard them. Drop them, or she dies."

The man was Peeta Mellark, and he was holding a pistol to Odona Everdeen's head.

"Mom!" screamed Prim in shock and anguish.

Lerasi faced Peeta with determination set in every line of her face. "No. We will not relinquish our weapons. You will let her go right now or-"

Lerasi's words were cut off as about a dozen bullets drove into her brain. The guard who had fired lowered his repeating rifle as Lerasi collapsed to the floor, dead before she even hit the ground.

"Anyone else want to argue?" rhetorically asked Peeta in sarcasm.

Fighting to stay composed despite the sudden wanton death of her comrade, Prim then thought of a last idea. The adrenaline pumping through her body made her realize that there was one, last glimmer of hope left to them. She had to make Peeta believe that Odona's death would be pointless. That it was unneccessary.

"You wouldn't kill her," said Prim in as calm a tone as she could muster. "What would you stand to gain from it?"

Peeta just laughed.

Prim's voice softened as she locked her blue eyes directly with those of Peeta. She had to get through to him. She had to make him rediscover the old Peeta again. The Peeta that was locked deep inside of the tough veneer. The kind, sweet, baker's son. The Peeta who had loved Katniss more than anything in the world.

"I know you, Peeta," she said quietly. "You're not a murderer. I don't believe that you would-"

_Crack._

The mother of Primrose and Katniss Everdeen toppled to the floor; her skull cleanly pierced through from Peeta's shot.

**Now like I said, please take the little time it takes to leave one little review! I'm almost begging now, so please review because it totally makes my day. Please!**


End file.
